Merlin: Series Five
by Pawthorn
Summary: If series five left you disappointed, read on. Starts soon after series four, and goes in a new direction where Arthur is smarter, the knights do more, Mordred is badder, Gwen is not brainwashed, and Merlin makes much better decisions and actually uses some of that power he is supposed to have. AU after series four, not slash. Work In Progress, updates irreregular.
1. Emrys Revealed, Part One

_Every time I think of Series Five, I hate it more and more. So much potential was wasted. So many characters made stupid choices and died stupid deaths. Well, here's my attempt at a better Series Five. I'm not just changing episodes, I'm completely redoing that series. I hope you like it, but even if you don't, I had to do it. I had to give a better ending to the characters and the show that I love so much._

* * *

The quiet of the forest was suddenly broken by the thunder of hooves. Creatures of the woods scurried out of the narrow path, watching from the safety of undergrowth as countless crimson capes fluttered by, nearly obscuring the one brown coat in their mix.

The knights of Camelot pounded by, grim looks of determination set on their faces. As they neared a quiet river, the leader of the group slowed and turned his horse to face his followers.

"Beyond this stream lies the land of Amata," he said, looking hard at those around him, "Land ruled by Sarrum. All of you know his reputation for ruthlessness and cruelty. He will not take kindly to knights of Camelot on his land. Any man who wishes to turn back now may do so, with no shame."

None of the men turned away. In their eyes, he saw only trust and certainty.

"Very well. We ride on."

As the young man turned his horse and started slowly across the wide but shallow river, he felt a familiar presence settle in beside him.

"I don't know why you even bother asking," the other man said. "You know they'd follow you anywhere, plus it's not exactly been a secret where we're going, so they knew what they were in for when we left Camelot. I'm starting to think maybe you've got a complex where you have to hear yourself speak every so often or—"

"Yes, Merlin," the king replied, "Because obviously _I'm_ the one who talks too much between the two of us."

The servant opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to think of a comeback that wouldn't prove Arthur's point. He decided a moody silence was the best way to go.

"Honestly," said Arthur, ignoring Merlin's pout, "I'm almost certain they would have gone without me. They're just as worried about Gwaine and Percival as we are."

"And they're angry," added Merlin, glancing at the dark faces behind him.

"They are right to be!" Arthur said hotly, "What kind of ruler invites an alliance, and then arrests envoys that have come at his request?"

"One that knows how to gain the upper hand," whispered Merlin, trying to make Arthur quiet down. Glancing back at the knights, none of them seemed to have noticed their king's outburst. Good. They were incensed enough as it was without Arthur fanning the flames. "This is what Sarrum wants, Arthur. He knew you'd come if your men were taken captive. He wants you to attack in a blind rage so that he can kill you quickly, claim it was self-defense, and take Camelot for himself. You need to be calm. Your men need you thinking clearly."

Arthur glanced behind at the knights following him onto Amata's shore. Sighing, he straightened his back schooled his features, and continued at a more cautious pace down the wide trail before them.

"Alright," he said, voice still tight with tension, "But if he's hurt either of my knights, I'm going to make him pay."

Arthur glanced over to gage his friend's reaction. Though the Merlin's face was impassive, his eyes burned with cold fury as he replied.

"You'll have to get in line."

Sarrum's castle stood darkly against the orange and red of the setting sun. The colors were reflected in the eyes of the pale young man, giving him an even more unearthly look as he stared out from the mouth of the cave.

"Sir," said a roughly clothed soldier, approaching him from the nearby wood, "We've just had word. Manon's troops have just crossed the river into Amata. They should be here this time tomorrow."

"Good," the young man replied, not glancing away from the dark fortress.

"There's more, sir," the soldier continued, "At the crossing, there were signs of a large group on horseback, less than half a day ahead of our people. We don't know for sure, but there have been rumors in some of the villages. Talk of knights in red capes. We believe it is King Arthur."

At this, the young man finally looked away from the distant castle. His brow furrowed for a moment, but then he smiled softly, looking up at the stars that had just begun to shine above them.

"Destiny," he said softly, "The Once and Future King rides to meet us unknowingly, and Emrys rides with him."

Finally, he looked back at the soldier in front of him.

"Alert all of our followers that the new era is coming. We will release our Priestess, Camelot's king will fall, and his pet sorcerer will die with him. We attack tomorrow, at nightfall."

"Yes, my Lord Mordred."

* * *

_There was no reason for Mordred to be good. When last we saw him, he was throwing knights around with his mind and vowing vengeance on Merlin, which is so much cooler than anything he did in Series Five. Mordred deserves to be a way more powerful character._

_Hope you enjoyed it! This is still in progress, so it may be a while before I post again. _


	2. Emrys Revealed, Part Two

_(AN: Thanks for the response! You guys are awesome. Quite a few of you are in support of a Good!Mordred, which I get. I didn't have anything against his goodness in and of itself, I just didn't like that there was no reason, and the shift back to evil was kind of awkward. And the fact that he was around made Merlin act ridiculous all season. I'd like to see what would happen if he stayed bad. But, there may be other loyalty shifts…)_

* * *

From a distance, Merlin wondered what the odd shapes that adorned the walls of Sarrum's stronghold could be. They were too formless to be decorations, and yet they were carefully spaced around the battlements.

"Merlin, don't look."

Merlin turned sharply to look at Arthur, whose eyes were set firmly on the road ahead, never glancing up at the looming castle before them. _What did Arthur mean by that?_ Merlin wondered. Why wouldn't he…

Unintentionally, he let his eyes wonder up once more, and was finally able to make out the structures sticking up all over the walls.

He gasped, and quickly looked away.

"I told you not to look," Arthur said grimly.

He had been right.

No cruelty of Uther, Morgause, Cenred, Morgana, or any of their countless merciless enemies had prepared Merlin for such a sight. Sarrum had chosen to decorate his keep with bodies of the dead and dying. From his quick glimpse, Merlin had seen people suspended in cages, emaciated and filthy. Countless heads and sundry body part were stuck on pikes or hung from chains. But the worst were the impalings. People frozen in death-looks of such agony, Merlin could scarcely imagine the pain that caused it. He didn't think anything could be worse than that brief glance.

Until they got closer.

And he could hear the moaning.

Finally, they made it past the barrage of misery and into the courtyard. They dismounted, and were immediately led into the palace. The halls were vast, but cold and dark. Burly guards glared as they passed, and underfed servants skittered by, eyes on the floor. They entered the great hall, and Sarrum spoke from his tall throne.

"King Arthur," the Sarrum said. "To what do I owe this… invasion?"

"No invasion," Arthur said calmly, not rising to the other man's jab. "Just a friendly visit, to enquire how my knights were enjoying their… hospitality."

"Ah, the fugitives," sneered the other ruler.

"Fugitives?" Arthur questioned. "What is their crime?"

"That information is none of your concern," the Sarrum snapped.

"'Not my concern?'" Arthur said, incredulously. "My knights, whom you invited to treat with you, have been confined to a dungeon without trial. It's damn well my concern."

The Sarrum's eyes narrowed.

"Watch your tone, boy," he spat.

"I am no boy," Arthur answered, drawing himself up. "I am Lord Protector of Camelot and all its citizen. Those men are under my protection. You will either inform me of their crimes and allow me to witness their trial, or you will release them to me immediately."

Sarrum smiled.

"It is against the laws of this land to undermine my authority in any way," he said. "Guards, remove their weapons and possessions. Place the _Lord Protector_ in the dungeons, with the rest of his _citizens_."

Arthur glanced at the knights around him, and at Merlin, as the guards removed their effects and began to lead them away. They had known this was the most likely outcome and had planned for it. Still, the knights were clearly uncomfortable with allowing themselves to be captured, even if it did mean they would be led to their captive friends. Merlin was proud of the way his king sent reassuring smiles to each man, letting them know that everything was under control.

"Wait."

The Sarrum's voice rang through the hall and the group came to a stop. Merlin saw Arthur's brow crease with confusion for a moment before he wiped his face blank and turned to face the other ruler.

"I said _all_ possessions," the Sarrum smirked. Merlin glanced around the men wondering what could have been missed, but Arthur held eye contact with Sarrum, furrowing his brow in suspicion as the ruler continued to speak.

"Come now, Pendragon," the man said, standing and descending the stairs before his throne. "Surely it is not so different in Camelot. When criminals are arrested, their property becomes property of the ruler. Weapons, land, money… servants."

Suddenly, a hand clamped down on Merlin's shoulder. Merlin swallowed and exchanged a brief look with Arthur, as his master quickly covered a look of surprise, and maybe a little fear. However, the king quickly composed himself and nodded.

"Of course," he said, voice only slightly tense.

Sarrum sneered again and turned to the guard holding Merlin.

"Take him to the steward," his eyes flicked to Merlin only for a moment before mockingly returning to Arthur. "I'm sure we can find some work for him."

As Merlin was led down a side hallway and Arthur and his knights were steered toward the dungeons, the master and servant exchanged a last look that communicated more that words could.

_Be careful._

_Don't do anything stupid._

_Good luck._

* * *

Gwen stared at the forest ahead, not really seeing the dense trees. Arthur's plan was brave, but so dangerous. True, outside of a full-scale attack, it was the best way to get Gwaine and Percival out of the Sarrum's grasp. Still… so much could go wrong…

"Your Highness."

Gwen jumped as she looked to her side at the newcomer.

"Leon," she sighed. "You're the last person that should be calling me that."

After almost a year of being addressed as a noble, she still wasn't used to it. Once more clad in breeches, tunic, and a leather jerkin, she felt more like herself than she had in the flowing gowns of the palace.

"I think the title suites you," said Elyan, coming to stand at her other side. "You certainly lorded over Leon and I enough when we were younger."

Gwen smiled as she playfully elbowed her brother in the chest.

"Somebody had to keep you two from tearing down the house, terrorizing the other servants, and goodness knows what else you tried to get into." Elyan rubbed his chest and laughed, meeting Leon's eyes over Gwen's head.

Slowly, their mirth faded as they stared across the river into Sarrum's land.

"Do you think they're alright?" the words slipped out before Gwen could stop herself. Instantly, her brother's hand appeared on her shoulder, warm and comforting.

"They'll be fine," he said with certainty.

"Yes," Leon agreed. "It's a good plan, and you know Arthur will never leave without his men."

Gwen grimaced. She knew Arthur would never abandon the knights. He would die first…

Elyan gripped her shoulder tighter.

"If something goes wrong, we'll be there," he said, looking her squarely in the eye. "In three days time, if we've not heard from them, we will bring the full force of Camelot down on them."

"And until then," Leon said, wrapping his arm around Gwen's shoulders and smiling. "At least we know they have Merlin looking after them."

Merlin kept his head down as he scrubbed the hall floor, only occasionally glancing up to check his surroundings. The Sarrum's attempt to humiliate Arthur by removing his servant had actually given them an advantage. Out here, Merlin could sneak and spy. He could find a way to get his friends out without an of them getting hurt. He just had to wait for an opportunity…

Just then, a guard walked by. He was big, stupid-looking, smelly, and had a belt jingling with keys.

Merlin grinned.

* * *

Arthur grimaced as the cell door clang shut loudly behind him. Sarrum's prison was different than any other he'd seen before. More like a cave than anything, there was a large open space surrounded by small cells. No twists or turns, and nowhere to hide. The middle of the cavern was occupied by tables, chairs, chains, and many implements that Arthur could too easily guess uses for. The floor was littered with trapdoors. Arthur was just leaning forward to examine the closest one to him when a voice in the next cell interrupted his thoughts.

"Say what you will about our diplomacy," the haggard looking man said, walking forward. "It's never, ever boring."

"Gwaine!" Arthur exclaimed, walking over and reaching through the bars that separated their cells to grasp his friend's hand. "Are you alright? Percival?"

"We're both none the worse for wear," Gwaine said, cracking his back. "We've been keeping a low profile, not making any trouble. Honestly, I think our gracious host is disappointed."

"He's probably just waiting for an excuse to execute us all."

"Well, now there are more of us, we've got a better chance of doing something worth his attention," Gwaine said, grinning. "Who do we got here?"

"Sir Cador, Brennis, eighteen others." Arthur lowered his voice, glancing around. "Gwen is waiting with a large force, just outside the border, in case things go wrong. Leon and Elyan are with her."

Gwaine continued to look around at the captive knights encircling the cave.

"Where's Merlin?" he asked lightly. "Don't tell me you actually convinced him to stay behind this time!"

The king looked away.

"Arthur," Gwaine said, all levity vanished. "Where is Merlin?"

"He's alright," Arthur said, praying the words weren't a lie. "But Sarrum… confiscated him, I suppose. Said that prisoners weren't allowed to have property. He's sent him somewhere in the palace to work."

"And you just let him?" Gwaine spat, grabbing the bars. "Because he's some possession that can be taken or traded—"

"What would you have me do, Gwaine?" Arthur hissed, stepping close. "Tell the Sarrum, 'Oh, actually, he's a good friend and one of my closest advisors, so I'd prefer it if you'd send him down to the dungeons with the rest of us!' There's no way I could have kept him with us without giving away how important—"

Arthur cut himself short, jaw clenched. He pushed himself away from the bars and scrubbed his hand over his face.

"I'm sorry, Arthur," Gwaine said softly. He looked sincere.

Arthur sighed.

"Look," he whispered, moving close to his knight once more. "Right now, he's our best shot at escape. You know Merlin. He's probably hatching some hair-brained scheme to get us out of here right now."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Gwaine said, eyes darkening. "I've seen some of this lovely equipment in use over the past few weeks." Gwain gestured the racks, chains, and blades that filled the middle of the cave. "You don't understand Sarrum. He doesn't need a reason to hurt. It's not about punishment or getting information. He just likes—"

Gwaine's words were cut off, as the door at the top of the stairs opened. Through it came two guards, dragging a screaming servant girl between them.

"Please, _please_, it was a _mistake_, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, _I'm sorry_…" the girl broke off into incoherent babbles as she was strapped to a chair.

Sarrum slowly descended the stairs and approached the girl, who squirmed as far away from him as her bonds would allow.

"Shhhhh," he said, crouching in front of her and placing a hand on her face. "It was an accident. A moment of carelessness. I understand."

He smiled, and the girl looked almost hopeful.

"Let's just make sure you aren't so careless in the future."

Sarrum nodded to a guard who picked up an instrument from a nearby table and approached the girl. Arthur didn't know which would haunt his dreams longer, the girls screams, or the look of excitement on Sarrum's face as he watched.

* * *

_(AN: So, I try to keep things in the spirit of the show. I don't like doing violence for violence sake. However, in the "Hollow Queen" it's stated that Sarrum (and yes, I know sometimes I write Sarrum and other times it's THE Sarrum, but they did that on the show as well. Confusing. Boo on Series 5!) enjoys watching men, women, and children being _impaled_. He needed to be icky. I hope you're enjoying this. I should be done with Episode 1 in less than five chapters. Even so, hang on folks, this story is going to be long and plot-heavy. Thanks for reading!)_


	3. Emrys Revealed, Part Three

_(Hey guys! Thanks so much for your review and follows. Stick with it; I'll try not to disappoint.)_

* * *

Merlin smirked, pushing the unconscious guard further into the cupboard. Stepping out cautiously, he closed the door softly behind him. He looked down at the keys in his hand, then quickly hid them away under his jacket.

He made his way back to where he had been scrubbing the floor as fast as he could. He grabbed the brush and knelt down just as the doorway to the dungeon swung open. As much as he wanted to look up, he kept his eyes down, kept working. Foot steps moved toward him down the hall.

_Keep walking, _Merlin thought fiercely, _I'm just a servant. I'm invisible. Keep walking._

Despite his wishes, the footsteps slowed and stopped in front of him. Merlin didn't let his eyes dart up, he just kept scrubbing, praying that the stolen keys wouldn't jingle and give him away. The pair of boots in front of him did not seem keen on moving, and Merlin was starting to wonder if he should stand up and bow or something. What would a proper servant do? Merlin had no idea.

Fortunately, his silent subservience seemed for please the man before him, who chuckled darkly and then walked away. Merlin risked a glance at the man's back. Sarrum. Of course.

As Merlin turned back to continue scrubbing the floor, he saw something that made him freeze. Drops that the Sarrum had dripped onto clean floor.

Drops of blood.

The time for waiting was over. Merlin had to move, now.

* * *

Arthur slumped in his cell, eyes unfocused. He didn't know whether the servant girl was dead or alive, and he wasn't sure which was worse. Through the course of her… punishment, he had learned that the girl's crime had been dropping and breaking a crystal platter. His stomach churned as he thought of his own servant's clumsiness. He hoped the idiot didn't do anything to get himself chucked down here. This was the last place he needed to be.

At that moment, the door at the top of the staircase eased open. Arthur stiffened. He hadn't counted on Sarrum coming back so soon. He saw the men around him stand and exchange glances, wondering if Sarrum had come to try his devices on them.

But Sarrum was usually escorted by two guards, and this figure was alone. He was also moving cautiously and quietly, whereas the Sarrum would have burst in confidently, as he did before. In fact, there was something familiar about the man's skulking. Especially when he tripped on the last few stairs.

"_Merlin!_" Arthur hissed.

The figure's head jerked around. Merlin snuck quietly over to Arthur's cage, gripping the bars and glancing around nervously.

"Is everyone alright?" he whispered.

"You mean aside from being stuck next to the Princess for so long?" Gwaine said.

Merlin's face split into a wide grin.

"Gwaine!" he cried, running forward and clasping the man's hand warmly through the bars.

"Yes, alright, alright," said Arthur, glancing back at the dungeon door, "You two girls can catch up on you gossip once we're out of here."

"Can't you just say you're happy to see me?" Merlin asked, quirking a smile.

"I might, if you were as good at getting _out _of prisons as you are at getting _into_ them!" Arthur snapped.

Merlin pulled out a giant ring of keys, smirking haughtily.

"Well done, Merlin!" Gwaine beamed. Merlin turned to Arthur, raising his brows expectantly.

"Oh, stop looking so pleased with yourself and get us out," the king bristled, trying his best to keep the grin out of his voice. Really, Merlin was a wonder.

Merlin started on Arthur's lock, trying each key. But as he worked, he kept glancing behind him.

"Merlin, hurry up!" Arthur snapped.

"Look, I'm trying, there's a lot to go through here!"

"Well, maybe if you stopped looking over your shoulder like a frightened rabbit—"

"Arthur!" Merlin said seriously, still working furiously. "Doesn't it seem odd to you that there are no guards down here?"

"I'm sure Sarrum thought that the ones outside the door to the stairs were enough," Arthur replied.

Merlin met Arthur's eyes for a long moment.

"There were no guards outside."

Arthur's stomach twisted.

"So, this is a—"

"Yes," Merlin said, turning back to the lock.

"Merlin, it's a—"

"—trap, yeah, I knew when I came down here."

"Merlin," Gwaine said gravely, "You need to get out of here. Now."

"Nope," Merlin said, not looking up

"He's right," Arthur said, firmly. "Go, Merlin. Now!"

"Not happening," Merlin replied.

"It wasn't a request!" Arthur growled in frustration. "As your king, I command you to leave."

"And as your friend I refuse!"

"Merlin!"

"Arthur!" the servant yelled, finally looking up. "Even if it is a trap, it's our best chance! And Sarrum won't expect me to have keys, so we're a step ahead. But I'm running out of time, the light is fading, and this is hard enough to do with out you making commands that you know very well I will ignore. Please. Shut. Up."

Merlin turned back to the lock. Arthur floundered for words for a moment before sighing and rubbing his hand over his face.

"Fine," he said. "But at least focus on what you're doing. Gwaine and I will keep watch."

* * *

Outside the fortress, shadows were moving through the twilight, emerging from the forest quietly as the mists that swirled in the cool evening air. Dark figures approached the castle walls and guarded gates. Sarrum's men fell silently as the hooded figures swept past, stealing lives with quick daggers or whispered spells. Like wisps of smoke that curl through the cracks of a door and crawl along walls to fill a room with choking haze, the silent army slowly filled Sarrum's stronghold. What was once a great fortress became a tomb. The lifeless bodies of both soldiers and servants littered the halls—not a soul under Sarrum's command was spared. All that was left was the Sarrum and his small group of personal guards, headed toward the dungeon to spring their own trap, not knowing that a much larger and deadlier trap head already closed over their heads.

* * *

Merlin had managed to free almost all of Arthur's men. It was slow going. There were at least three different locks fitted with different keys, and there seemed to be no pattern to which locks were placed where. In other circumstances, he would have used magic to speed things up, but he couldn't risk it. Each knight waited impatiently as Merlin worked on the locks, watching him intently. He simply had to focus on the task at hand and do it the hard way.

Behind his back, he could hear Arthur rallying the men that were already free, supplying them with makeshift weapons from small blades, chains, table legs, and anything else they could find. They wouldn't help much against swords and armor, but if the knights could push their way to the armory, they just might make it.

Finally, the last lock clicked open, and the knight inside gripped his shoulder gratefully before running to the others, Merlin close on his heels.

As Merlin ran to Arthur, the king grimly handed him a small but wicked-looking knife. The warlock's brow furrowed as he looked at the knights around him carrying makeshift weapons.

"Arthur, no," he said, handing the blade back. "The knight's, they need it…"

"_They_ are trained to use whatever they must to fight," Arthur said, raising his eyebrows. "_You _gave _yourself _a black eye last time I tried to train you."

"Arthur," Merlin started. "I can't—"

"You can." Arthur replied sternly, wrapping Merlin's hand around the blade. "And you will. We're going to be fighting for our lives here. No one will be able to look out for you. You have to be able to defend yourself. Keep out of the way. Only use this in self defense, if someone comes after you."

Merlin shook his head. He didn't _need_ protecting. He wished he could tell Arthur that.

"Please," Arthur said earnestly.

Merlin was so shocked that he couldn't reply as the king left the knife in his hands and strode toward the stairs, the knights following closely.

At that moment, the door to the dungeon burst open, revealing the Sarrum, smirking smugly. His smile faltered as his eye landed on Arthur and his men, all free, all armed. Merlin felt a grin growing on his own face as Sarrum nodded to the guard beside him, who ran off, likely to gather reinforcements. The other ruler had not expected a mere servant to be so experienced in rescues.

"King Arthur," the Sarrum said coolly. "You must realize that this breakout is a further offense against me, my crown, and my country. Your life is forfeit."

"No, Sarrum," Arthur spat. "You are the one whose life is forfeit. You sealed your fate the moment you threatened my knights."

With one final glare, the Sarrum raised his hand, ordering his guards forward.

Merlin took a steadying breath as he watched Arthur clash with the first guard. Sarrum still watched smugly from above. Merlin backed into the shadows.

Time to work.

* * *

Arthur was proud of his men. They fought bravely, despite their lack of swords and armor. Despite their disadvantage, they outnumbered their opponents almost two to one. Also, their enemies were bottle-necked on the stairs, making it easier to control their position. Sarrum's soldiers also seemed strangely clumsy. Swords swung wide, feet slipped, and the men became tangled in each other's armor. For now they were winning, but he knew that more soldiers had to be on the way. They had to end this quickly. They needed to get hold of Sarrum, who still stood behind his men at the top of the stairs. Arthur's knights were pulling their foes off of the stairs, but the other ruler was still far out of reach.

Suddenly, a loud crack resounded from the stairs above. Arthur looked up to see the guard closest to Sarrum topple forward as the wooden step beneath his foot split in two. Arthur gaped as the man toppled forward, knocking all the guards before him off the steps and leaving a clear path to the Sarrum. Shaking his head in disbelief, Arthur started up the stairs. He had learned to stop questioning his good luck long ago.

Sarrum stood, sword ready. Arthur hefted a large table leg in one hand as a heavy length of chain swung from the other. He feinted with his makeshift club, then swung the chain, aiming for the Sarrum's head. The older man ducked, then brought his sword up, intending to plunge it into Arthur's stomach. Arthur batted the sword aside with his club and took a quick step away. Sarrum was a dangerous opponent, and he had two advantages: his sword and high ground. Arthur knew he had to be cautious.

He let the chain swing in slow circles at his side as he and his opponent sized each other up. The Sarrum stared down at him, predatory grin stretching across his face. Then, he lunged.

Arthur cleared everything out of his mind as he fought. He moved purely on instinct, reacting before his brain could register what he was doing. He stepped back and forward, dodging and blocking with his club as he struck out with the chain.

Finally, the inevitable happened. Wood gave way to steel. Only a well-timed stumble on the Sarrum's part kept his blade from shearing Arthur's arm off as his club split in two.

Arthur quickly threw the now useless length of wood into the Sarrum's face. Then, taking advantage of his opponent's surprise, he swung the chain forward. It wrapped around the Sarrum's sword, and Arthur pulled desperately, yanking it away and throwing both of their weapons far into the dungeon.

Arthur looked at the fuming Sarrum and raised his fists. Sarrum reached inside his cloak and pulled out a dagger.

"Arthur!" he heard a voice shout. He looked down to see Merlin throw something at him. The knife! Instinctively he caught it by the hilt and brought it up to block the blade that was aimed at his throat. He faced the Sarrum once more, trying to block out the worry he felt at seeing his servant alone and defenseless amid the fighting.

Sarrum fought viciously, using his position to rain blow after blow down at Arthur. He kept the king of Camelot on the defensive, sustaining a rage-filled barrage that nearly caused Arthur to fall backward down the stairs.

Suddenly, Sarrum struck out with his boot, hitting Arthur squarely in the stomach. He fell backwards, bouncing painfully down the steps and landing in a heap at the bottom.

He recovered as quickly as he could, sure that any moment he would feel a sword in his back. But as he looked around, he realized the battle was over. Sarrum's men were either dead or kneeling in submission. Arthur whipped his head back to Sarrum just in time to see the other man adjust his grip on his dagger preparing to throw it. In a flash, Arthur did the same with his knife, knowing that he wouldn't have time to move out of the way.

The blades left each of the ruler's hands at the same time, passing each other in the air.

Arthur blinked, and suddenly a familiar form materialized between him and the dagger, knocking him down.

_No. Please, no._

They both fell to the ground, and Arthur's stomach fell even further. In the background, he heard knights gasping and Sarrum grunting with pain as the knife hit him, but all Arthur could see was the scrawny, dark haired figure in front of him.

He grabbed his servant's shoulder and furiously turned him over, trying not to panic as he search for the wound…

And found Merlin, cheekily grinning up at him, holding the dagger in his hands.

Arthur patted his friend's chest in disbelief but didn't find as much as a scratch.

"You…" he panted, sitting back in relief. "You… caught it?"

Merlin shrugged, still smiling. Arthur laughed, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

A moan from the staircase above caused them both to look up, scrambling to their feet.

Sarrum was standing on the staircase above, holding the hilt of the knife embedded deep in his stomach. The wound was fatal. It would all but impossible to fully clean and mend the damage done inside, but the Sarrum might live for days in agony before succumbing. Arthur couldn't bring himself to feel sorry for the man, after all the pain he had caused. It was fitting that one of the Sarrum's own torture devices had brought him down.

But as much as Arthur wanted to, he couldn't take pleasure in the man's misery. He always tried to kill cleanly in battle. This was no different. He took the dagger from Merlin, and started up the stairs to grant the man a quick death.

Suddenly, the Sarrum stiffened, eyes going wide. His back arched as his mouth opened in a voiceless cry of pain. The knights below watched in horror as his skin grew pale and his limbs convulsed. He seemed to age before their eyes, until finally his features cracked and crumbled, as though the very life was being sucked out of him. At last, his withered shell collapsed on the ground in a cloud of dust, revealing the dark figure behind him.

The man stepped into the dungeon, flanked by two figures carrying torches. He stepped forward, pulling back his hood. The light fell on his face, and Arthur heard Merlin gasp behind him. He glanced back to see the color drain from his friend's face.

"Mordred."

* * *

_(I always thought Merlin should take more advantage of his time control powers. I will be playing with them in this story. Also, I should be able to finish this episode in one more chapter. However, their are going to be thirteen episodes in the series. Settle in folks, this will be a looooong fic :) Thanks for reading!)_


	4. Emrys Revealed, Part Four

_(AN: Just to clarify, this is all canon through the end of series four. Lancelot is dead, Gwen recently became Queen, Morgana was wounded but saved by Aithusa, and Arthur doesn't know Merlin's secret. Yet… Again, thank you guys so much for reading, reviewing, and following. Enjoy!)_

* * *

Merlin tried to control his choking panic as he looked at the pale young man before him. The boy's blue eyes were as cold now as they had been all those years ago, and just as full of hate for him, and for Arthur.

The king himself whipped his head around to look at the young sorcerer as Merlin spoke his name.

"Mordred?" Arthur said in confusion. Then, recognition dawned. "The Druid boy…"

Mordred continued to stare down at them silently, as he had all those years ago. The knights shifted uneasily. More hooded figures quietly enter the dungeon and started down the stairs.

Not good.

Merlin had to end this quickly, before things got worse.

_Why are you here?_ He thought furiously toward the man before him.

Mordred's lips twitched in a smile.

_Hello, Emrys. _The voice in his mind was older than he had been before, but just as cold.

_What do you want?_ Merlin had no time for idle chatter.

_I want,_ Mordred spoke silently, _The same thing I wanted as a child. Safety. Protection. A chance at a normal life. But now, I want to give that chance to every man, woman, and child who carries magic. They will no longer live in fear._

_The Druids have nothing to fear from Arthur, _Merlin thought defiantly.

"Druids," Arthur said at almost the same time. "This is a matter between the lands of Amata and Camelot. Withdraw your troops now, peacefully, and no harm will come to you."

"You're wrong," Mordred spoke softly, still staring directly into Merlin's eyes. Then, his eyes flickered over to Arthur. "Our mission here is greater than kingdoms and rulers, Arthur Pendragon."

Merlin shook his head once again directing his thoughts at Mordred. _Listen to him—_

"Listen!" Arthur said, holding his hands up. "We have no quarrel with Druids. We only—"

"We are no Druids!" Mordred spat. "We are the true followers of the Triple Goddess. We are not content to hide and cower before lesser men. We are the Heolor. We have come for our Priestess."

Without another word, Mordred and the men behind him pushed their hands forward as one.

Surprised by the suddenness and strength of the attack, Merlin barely had time to register his feet leaving the ground before his head struck something hard, and everything went black.

* * *

Arthur relied on instinct as the blast of magic caught him up and slammed him back down. He rolled, protecting his head as he had in countless skirmishes and battles before. The pain was sharp, and his breath was knocked from his body, but he remained conscious.

Risking a quick glance around, it appeared that he was about the only one. Merlin was out cold, as were most of his knights. The sorcerers seemed to be counting on that, and were completely ignoring them. They moved into the dungeon, and seemed to be studying the floor. Arthur stayed still, determined to find a way to surprise his opponents without getting him or his men killed.

Movement caught is eye to his right. Gwaine was stirring. He caught the man's eye, then subtly motioned for him to stay down. Gwaine seemed to understand, and his movement quieted immediately.

"Check all of them," Mordred was saying. Arthur heard creaking hinges and slams all around him. The trapdoors! The sorcerers were searching them. Now why…?

"Here, Sir!" Someone shouted. Everyone in the dungeon stopped and raced over.

Slowly, Arthur turned his head to get a better look. Mordred was kneeling beside one of the dark holes, raising his torch and trying to peer in.

"Well," the young man sighed. "This could be a problem. Quick, find some rope."

One of the cloaked figures dashed up the stairs and out of the room. Arthur saw the distraction as an opportunity. He scanned his surroundings for something he could use as a weapon. There! The sword he had torn from the Sarrum's hands. He inched over, keeping careful watch on the sorcerers.

"Hurry up," Mordred said, impatiently. There was real emotion, distress in his voice. He was pulling off his cloak, casting it aside, revealing the plain tunic and trousers underneath. Gone was the ghoulish figure that had first encountered them on the stairs. Now, Arthur saw a young man, not so different from himself, clasping the shoulders of his followers as he gazed into the pit, eyes full of worry. The stairs thundered as the man returned with the rope, and the movement around the pit grew more frenzied.

Thinking of his own men, Arthur glanced around. Most of them seemed to be stirring. Arthur made eye contact with Gwaine, then motioned to the exit. His knight immediately understood, and began pointing the knights nearest to him toward Arthur, who positioned himself at the bottom of the stairs. If he could use the sorcerer's distraction to get his men out, he had to do it. They were tired, hungry, and weaponless. He ushered them passed, giving each a reassuring nod. They would live to fight another day.

As the last few knights passed him, Percival paused next to him, with worry in his eyes. Arthur followed his gaze.

Merlin was still completely unconscious. He was also closer to the band of sorcerers than most of their group hand been. So far, the former Druids had been so preoccupied with the pit that they hadn't heard Camelot's soldiers slipping away. But grabbing the servant would be risky.

Arthur scrubbed his hand over his face for a moment, and then started toward his manservant. Immediately, he was stopped by Percival's hand on his shoulder. The knight shook his head and pointed to himself.

Arthur's brow furrowed. He wanted to argue, but there was no time. He let Percival move forward, conceding that the larger man probably had a better chance of carrying Merlin quietly to safety. Gwaine appeared beside him, and it was Arthur's turn to hold him back as he tried to rush toward his two friends. This earned the king a glare from his knight, but they quickly tore their eyes from each other to watch Percival's progress.

The knight moved forward slowly, staying as low to the ground as his size allowed. Arthur could see the man's brow glistening in the faint torchlight. The king held his breath as the knight drew closer to Merlin. This heart seemed to hammer in his ears.

Finally, Percival reached the servant. They were scarcely a yard away from the sorcerers. Carefully, he slipped his arms under Merlin and lifted him gently from the ground. Arthur closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe as his chest tightened. He heard a creaking sound beside him, and looked down to see Gwaine's white-knuckle grip on the wooden club he held. Looking back up, he saw that Percival had his back to the sorcerers and was making his way forward. Arthur's sword was slick in his hand as he lifted it, joining Gwaine in readiness to defend his friend's back should the sorcerers attack.

But the enemy group showed no sign of turning. Arthur scanned their faces, and realized that Mordred was no longer among them. His heart jumped to his throat, and he quickly searched the darkness behind them, thinking they had been flanked. There was nothing. Then, he noticed the rope being held taut, extending from the pit, and a voice echoing up. The sorcerers were pulling someone from the hole's dark depths.

Arthur was distracted from the sorcerers' actions as Percival finally reached them, Merlin in his arms. Looking at them, Arthur was slammed back in time to another quest. He swallowed and gripped his servant's arm for a moment to reassure himself that his friend was not ice cold, as he had been after the Dorocha's attack. Merlin was warm, but he hadn't stirred, and there was blood welling from an injury just behind his ear. It was time to leave.

Arthur motioned for the others to go ahead of him. He followed slowly, keeping a close eye on the sorcerers. Several of them were extending their arms into the hole, pulling and straining until finally Mordred emerged carrying something in his arms.

Or someone…

"Give her room!" Mordered cried as he gently laid the fragile figure on the stone floor. The sorcerers stepped back, allowing Arthur to see the familiar face. It was thin and dirty, and the torchlight did little to help him see, but he could not forget the face that had taunted, teased, and tested him half his life.

"Morgana."

* * *

He was accosted by the smells even before he was fully conscious.

The cold smell of water on stone.

The musty smell of closed doors in deep places.

The copper tang of blood.

Images danced behind his eyelids, painting portraits of a dungeon, fighting, fleeing, magic…

Mordred.

Merlin gasped as his eyes flew open, but a hand immediately appeared, stifling the sound. Before he could protest, Gwaine's face floated into view, signaling him to be silent. He nodded, and found his feet. Apparently, Percival had been carrying him. Again. That was a bit embarrassing…

Looking over the dungeon, Merlin could see a group of hooded figures, huddled, Mordred in their midst. Then at the bottom of the stairs, he saw—

"_Arthur!_" Gwaine hissed, raising his voice as loudly as he dared.

Arthur didn't turn. He just continued to stare at the group of sorcerers with a look akin to horror on his face. Though Merlin was, unfortunately, familiar with seeing Arthur wear this expression around magic users, that did not explain why the king was stepping _toward_ the crowd of sorcerers.

Quickly, Merlin descended the stairs, brushing off Gwaine's obstructing hand. He had to get Arthur out of there. He reached the floor, grabbing his friend's shoulder. Then, he followed Arthur's gazed.

He saw Morgana.

She looked terrible. Bruised, soiled, and broken. Where was the fierce, proud girl he once knew? Or even the fearsome enemy he had known in recent years? It broke heart to see her that way. Then he looked at Arthur.

His friend looked as though he was going to be sick. Of course he did. This was the girl he had grown up with, his sister. They had more history together than even he and Merlin. Her betrayal had cut deeply because he had loved her. Merlin could see that despite the pain she had caused, despite everything, those feelings were still there. Merlin knew how he felt.

So, he made no motion to stop Arthur as his king darted forward among the sorcerers.

He trusted Arthur's instinct, trusted the way he followed his heart. And he trusted himself to save his friend, if need be.

The sorcerers jumped back for a moment, and then came to their senses. They grabbed Arthur's arms as he moved to kneel beside his one-time friend, restraining him. Merlin felt his magic build up—

"Please," Arthur said. It was so quiet, Merlin almost didn't hear. "Please, just let me. Please."

Mordred's eyes were wide. Suddenly, he looked young—so much younger than Arthur and Merlin—and so uncertain. He nodded, looking as though he wasn't quite sure of what he was doing.

Arthur fell immediately to his knees and gathered Morgana into his arms.

"Morgana?" he said, resting his hand on her cheek. "Can you hear me?"

Merlin could see her shift in Arthur's grasp. Her brow creased. Then, her eyes flickered open. Merlin tensed.

"'thur?" she whispered. There was something unexpected in her voice… hope?

"Yes," was all Arthur managed to choke out.

"I… had another nightmare," she said, swallowing, "So many… terrible things… so much pain… I was so afraid."

"It's alright," Arthur said, obviously trying to smile. "It's over now."

"How _dare _you."

Merlin and Arthur both looked up at the cold voice. Mordred had stepped closer, face contorted with rage.

"'It's over?' _Nothing _is over. Not for the priestess, not for the _thousands_ that have suffered, that still suffer because of you. No," the young man shook his head, stepping forward. "This is not over. This war has just begun."

He nodded at two of his men, and they restrained Arthur once more as Mordred pulled Morgana from his arms. She seemed to be losing consciousness again. But not before one more whispered call for her brother.

Mordred grimaced, and handed her off to two of his men.

"Go!" he cried. "Get her out!"

The two men made for the stairs quickly. As Merlin moved forward to help Arthur, he could see Gwaine and Percival blocking the stairs. He doubted Gwaine would feel much sympathy toward Morgana, no matter what state she was in. However, before they could move, Mordred sent the two knights flying with a motion of his hand. They toppled over the banister. Merlin did not hear them stir.

He couldn't think about that now. He had to help Arthur.

Quickly, he scooped a table leg off the floor and slammed it into one sorcerer's head. The other man holding the king spun, holding out his hand toward Merlin. Before Merlin could react, the man doubled over, Arthur's elbow in his gut. Merlin grabbed Arthur's hand, pulling him up. They stood back to back, each assessing the situation. There were about a dozen sorcerers, all beginning to circle around the king and his servant.

"You know," Merlin said, cracking his neck. "I wish I wasn't quite so used to this sort of thing."

Arthur's shoulders bumped against his as the king hefted the Sarrum's sword.

"If you're so used to it," he said, lunging out at one for their attackers. "Maybe _this time_ I won't have to save your sorry hide."

"You save me?" Merlin scoffed, covertly using magic to redirect an incoming spell. "Don't make me laugh."

"You're right, I shouldn't," said Arthur, ducking and pulling Merlin down with him, as flames from another sorcerer shot over their heads, taking two of their opponents down. "That would require you doing two things at once. Your little brain might come rattling out your ear."

There was no more time to talk. Arthur grabbed Merlin's shoulder, using it to launch himself at more attackers. Merlin followed behind quickly, defending Arthur's back with his cudgel and magic. At the same time, the servant strained to see Mordred. The young man had faded into the darkness. Merlin kept moving, focusing on the more urgent matters, such as the man currently trying to plunge a dagger between Arthur's ribs. Merlin threw him down with a thought, his master none the wiser.

Then, Merlin felt a pull, as if someone had attached a string to his stomach. Suddenly, the stone wall of the dungeon was flying at his face. He heard someone shout out his name, and he fought and flailed against the force pulling him. He managed to turn himself so that his feet smashed into the wall instead of his head. Slowing time for a moment, he got his bearings. There. Mordred was just behind Arthur, who was engaged with two other sorcerers. Merlin's eye's narrowed.

He bent his knees, gave himself an extra push with magic, and restarted time.

He flew at Mordred, who looked up at him in shock before ducking. Merlin's eyes flashed and a barrel rolled over, knocking his opponent down. Merlin soared over him and landed lightly, only stumbling slightly. He looked up to see Arthur eyeing him incredulously. The servant simply shrugged.

A moment later, Mordred was up, and Merlin was facing him. In full view of Arthur.

This… might be tricky.

* * *

Arthur moved smoothly from one opponent to the next, sometimes ducking magical attacks, sometimes rolling with the effects, and sometimes blocking them with his sword, which, apparently, was possible. However, he didn't feel as confident now that Merlin was no longer at his back. Not only did he feel exposed, but also he couldn't keep an eye on the idiot.

Arthur gasped as his throat seemed to close. He turned, lunging out blindly with his sword and managing to hit the man that was choking him. He finished the sorcerer quickly, and then turned to face a woman that was creating a small tornado at his feet. The king scoffed, stepping on it. Honestly, the magic users seemed to be showing off, but not all their tricks were effective.

The smirk fell from his face as the wind tunnel tightened around his foot and yanked. He fell in front of the grinning sorcerer. He grinned back, then slammed his legs into the woman's knees. She fell and didn't rise again. Arthur slowly got to his feet, only to be slammed down again by his manservant's flying form.

"Ow…" Merlin groaned.

"Yeah," Arthur said, throwing his friend off.

He stood and extended a hand to Merlin, pulling him up. The servant shook his head, bracing his hand on Arthur's shoulder. Then his head snapped up, eyes focusing on something in the distance.

"Arthur, look—" the rest of Merlin's words were lost as he pushed Arthur down and the wall behind them exploded. Both men coughed as dust covered them and debris rained down on their heads.

The king hastily found his feet, wiping his eyes. He felt Merlin scramble up beside him.

Mordred stepped out of the shadows once more.

Arthur stood facing him, shoulder to shoulder with his oldest friend.

"Mordred, please," he said. "You are too young to throw your life away like this. Stand down. Return to the Druids. Live out your life in peace."

"Peace?!" Mordred scoffed. "You call hiding in caves like criminals peace? You call women and children afraid to be seen, to trade, or work, or even use the main road, peace?"

"I have no quarrel the Druids."

"You mean you're no longer hunting them," Mordred spat. "Are we supposed to be grateful for that? You still fear magic. You hate it. And your people follow you in your hatred. At least Uther had the courage to watch his victims burn. You simply turn a blind eye while your precious citizens do the dirty work for you."

"That's not true," Arthur said, shaking his head. "Every man accused of sorcery deserves a trial. I would never condone the slaughter you describe."

"Really," said Mordred. His eyes seemed to flicker toward Merlin for a moment. Arthur did not like that. "What if it was personal? What if the one using magic wounded you deeply? What if—"

Mordred hissed a spell, and faster than thought, lightning shot out of his hands. Arthur threw up his hands, ready to feel the searing pain of the attack.

It didn't come.

Looking up, he saw blue light surrounding him, flowing like a river, absorbing the lightning as if it were raindrops on a lake. Then he looked over.

At Merlin.

"What if they betrayed you?"

* * *

_(AN: Hope you enjoyed this. One more chapter, and this episode should be done.)_


	5. Emrys Revealed, Part Five

_(AN: Thanks so much to those of you who are reviewing, following, and favoriting. It's very encouraging. Not that I don't also appreciate the silent spectators, quietly judging namelessly in front of their screens of light. I also salute you. In other news, cliffies are going to happen, people. I'll try not to put any if I know it'll be a while before I post, but be prepared. I intend to leave you hanging at the end of chapters. Not all chapters, but some. I shall not apologize, because I am doing it on purpose. Anyway, enjoy!)_

* * *

Merlin kept his eyes closed.

Here in the dark, it was easy to pretend that he was asleep in his bed at Camelot, just waking from a terrible nightmare.

Or maybe he was on a hunt, drifting off, and when he started awake Arthur would call him a girl and throw something at him.

Or maybe Mordred had knocked him out again, and he was just imagining the worst possible outcome of this confrontation.

But it wasn't the worst outcome.

Arthur was still alive. Merlin had to keep him that way.

He opened his eyes.

His magic still swirled around them, like liquid glass. Merlin watched it glow for a moment, losing himself in its beauty. Sighing, he turned and did what he had to do.

He looked Arthur in the eye.

Shock. Pure and utter shock. None of the other emotions he expected to see—anger, hatred, disgust—only shock. As if there were no room in Arthur's mind for anything else.

The king's eyes darted away, taking in the magical shield, then focusing past it. His gaze settled on Mordred.

"You," he said, glaring and leveling his sword at the young man. "You're doing this."

"Me?" Mordred scoffed. "I wish I could. I've never seen anything like it. I knew he would do something to save you, but this…" His voice trailed off as he stared at the sphere in awe. "I've always known you were powerful, Emrys, but I never really understood. Not until now."

"His name is Merlin," Arthur spat. "And you are not going to convince me that this is him. You cannot convince me that he has lied to me, or betrayed me, so you might as well stop trying."

Mordred just smiled.

"Arthur…" Merlin's voice was a ghost.

"Shut up," Arthur said, spearing him with a quick glance. "Get ready to attack as soon as this thing falls."

Merlin dropped his head, breath rushing out as he tried to blink back the wetness from his eyes.

"It won't fall until I let it," he said.

"Stop." Arthur said, really looking at Merlin. "Just stop it."

"I should have told you before—"

"Merlin, no."

"Yes," said Merlin, stepping forward. Arthur's sword arm slowly dropped to his side as he turned his full attention on Merlin. "This is who I am. I have magic, and I use it to keep you safe. Since the day we met."

Arthur closed his eyes and turned his face away. In that moment, Merlin knew his thoughts as clearly as if he had shouted them.

_No. Not again._

"You see, King Arthur," Mordred said. "Even your closest friend was afraid to tell you of his magic. Not because of anything your father did or said. Because of you. Merlin is afraid of _you_."

Arthur flinched at this, and Merlin turned to Mordred to tell him that he had it all wrong. But meeting the young man's cold, stern gaze, he found he had nothing to say.

"Emrys," Mordred continued. "Arthur Pendragon will always hate us. He was corrupted from an early age, and he will never abandon his father's stupid, ignorant, weak—"

Suddenly, Arthur cried out and slashed through the magical shield, launching himself at Mordred.

Pain exploded in the very core of Merlin's being as the blade met the ball of light. He gasped, unable to even scream. The lightning had hurt, but not like this. He blinked, trying to clear the white spots that obstructed his vision. The intense blinding pain was gone, but there was a lingering ache, like an ulcer in his soul.

That was no ordinary sword.

Rising with some effort—when had he fallen?—Merlin made his way toward Arthur, who was wildly attacking Mordred. The sorcerer ducked and dodged, trying to give himself space, but his adversary didn't give him time to breathe. Merlin watched anxiously, looking for some way to end the fight.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the sorcerers that they had taken down earlier. The man was creeping behind Arthur. With a determined grimace, Merlin called to his magic and threw it against the man.

The dull ache he felt erupted once more, almost causing him to blackout. Blinking back tears, he saw his target stumble slightly. The force he had used should have blasted the man into the wall! Instead, the sorcerer looked around in confusion for a moment, before finally spotting Merlin.

Well, at least he wasn't attacking Arthur.

Merlin tried to control his panic as he backed away from the man as quickly as he could. His mind was racing. His magic must have been damaged some how. Trying to use it was like trying to run on a broken leg: not very effective and very painful. Instead, Merlin began picking up whatever he could and chucking it at the sorcerer. The other man batted the debris away and answered with his magic. Merlin ducked, dived, and rolled, every so often whipping a piece of wood or stone at the other man. Unfortunately, his aim had never been very good. One rock went very wide and hit Arthur.

"Oi!" the other man cried, giving him a quick looked of annoyance before turning back to Mordred.

It was such a familiar exchange, and Merlin found himself smiling and shouting back, "Sorry! Didn't see you there!"

Then the memory of what had just happened caught up with him and he froze, paralyzed by the thought that he would probably never banter with Arthur again.

It was all the distraction his opponent needed.

Merlin felt the push catch him in the chest. He crashed over a table before slamming into the floor. He toppled and slid, the magic carrying him further than any natural blow.

"Merlin!" he heard Arthur shout. He barely had time to be surprised at the fright in the other man's voice before the ground disappeared, and he was falling.

* * *

Arthur turned when he heard the crash. He saw Merlin, tumbling across the floor like a discarded toy. Then, he saw what Merlin was heading towards.

He didn't think. He dropped the Sarrum's sword and sprinted toward his friend—_sorcerer, liar_—sliding on his stomach as he dove to close the last few feet. He reached out, seizing Merlin's arm with both hands as the servant fell into the mouth of the pit—the very one Morgana had been in.

Arthur grunted as Merlin jerked to a stop, dangling in the darkness. For a moment both men just breathed. Then, Merlin's eyes widened.

"Arthur, let go," he said urgently. "Let go now."

"No," Arthur said as strongly as he could.

"Arthur, Mordred!"

_Damn it!_ Arthur had forgotten for a moment. But he wasn't letting go. He just wasn't. He tried to pull Merlin up, but he had no leverage. He let go with one hand and tried to brace it on the edge of the pit.

Merlin slipped.

Arthur's heart flew into his throat has he threw his arm back down and clasped his servant with both hands once more. Merlin cried out, and Arthur knew his grip would leave bruises. He didn't care. He couldn't stand the thought of watching Merlin slip into the blackness, waiting to hear his body crumple at the bottom. No. He would not lose his friend this way.

_Is he still your friend?_

Arthur didn't know, and right now, he didn't have time to figure it out. Two thoughts clashed in his head as he search frantically for a way out.

_I can't let Merlin die._

_Once we get out of here, I'm going to kill him._

It wasn't the first time either thought had entered his mind.

He hoped it wouldn't be the last.

* * *

Arthur's face was turning red above him.

"Arthur," Merlin said, desperation slipping into his voice. "You have to get yourself out of here."

"No." Arthur ground out again. Merlin could feel Arthur's palms beginning to sweat. He felt himself slip a fraction of an inch. Arthur growled and readjusted his already crushing grip. Merlin thought about trying to wriggle free, but what if the motion brought Arthur down with him? He had to talk Arthur into dropping him.

"You are the King!" Merlin shouted.

"The King orders you to shut up," Arthur shot back.

"It's probably not that deep…"

"You think I'm going to risk that?"

"I have _magic_, remember?" Merlin said, viciously. "I'll stop myself from getting hurt."

"Really? Like you used magic to fight the sorcerer. Oh wait no, you were chucking _rocks _at him."

"I _do_ have magic, Arthur!"

"I know!" Arthur hollered. "And I'm not trusting it to save you!"

Merlin was silent. Then, he heard footsteps.

Mordred came into view.

_You see, Emrys?_ his voice echoed. _Even if he finds away to trust you, he will never trust magic._

"It's time to end this," he said aloud.

He plunged the Sarrum's sword into Arthur's back.

The king screamed, head thrown back in pain, and Merlin screamed with him. He felt Arthur's hands spasm around his arm, but his friend held on. Arthur's head fell forward, and Merlin could see him clenching his jaw. He met Merlin's eyes, and they both knew what was about to happen. A brief look of regret and understanding passed between them.

Then, Mordred yanked the sword back out.

Arthur's hands slackened, and Merlin fell.

As he watched Arthur's face and the light grow distant, he welcomed his fate.

There was no such thing as a coin with one side.

* * *

The last thing Arthur saw was Merlin's falling forming disappearing in the darkness.

Then, the darkness consumed Arthur too.

He felt someone kick his body, felt his arms and legs loll bonelessly as he rolled. Then, he heard a creak, and something slammed right beside his head.

"Goodbye, Emrys."

Footsteps passed him and echoed away.

The last thing he heard was a muffled groan and a whispered curse.

Then, there was nothing.

* * *

Sleep would not come.

Gwen was exhausted from the endless day. There had been nothing to do but wait and worry. Though she considered herself a patient person, it was against her nature to sit idly by while others were in danger. She could see the same restlessness in the knights around her.

Leon was constantly in motion, checking on the men, polishing weapons, and pacing along the camp's perimeter. Elyan, on the other hand, had withdrawn into himself. He sat, still as a statue staring at the fire, or the trees, or some unseen spot in the distance.

Gwen tried to control herself, to project confidence and calm to the knights. She tended to armor, mended, cooked, cleaned, anything she could to keep her mind occupied. She even sang, joked, and told stories with the men, all with a cheerful smile on her face. It was one of the hardest days work she had ever done.

Now, alone in her tent, she longed for sleep to lull away the gnawing unease in her stomach. But it eluded her. She had just decided to give it up and find something to do when she heard shouting.

She rushed out of the tent, still fully dressed. In the shadows on the edge of camp, riders were dismounting, being welcomed warmly by the other knights. She ran closer, anxiously searching through faces.

"Gwen!" a voice called.

It was Gwaine. For a moment, she was flooded with relief as she saw him atop a horse, and handing something down to Percival.

But he wasn't carrying something. It was someone.

"Arthur," she whispered, running over.

Percival settled her husband in his arms. Stopping in front of him, Gwen ran her hand through Arthur's hair, calling his name. Tears welled in her eyes when he did not answer. She looked at Percival for explanation, but he looked as lost as she felt. He also looked exhausted.

Arthur still lived. He would want her to look after his men.

"Leon, Elyan!" she called. The two men rushed over, faces falling when they saw Arthur. "Take the king to my tent and call the physician. Then find food and blankets for all these men; they are dead on their feet."

The two knights rushed to do as they were told. Gwen helped support Percival as she led him to a nearby fire, Gwaine close behind. The next half hour was a blur for Gwen as she directed efforts to care for the men, making sure that they had food and that their wounds were tended. She kept all other thoughts out—thoughts of Arthur, and of a certain conspicuous absence.

At last, everyone was seen to. Gwen dashed to her tent and threw open the flap. Her husband was laid out on his stomach. The physician was putting the final stitch on a wound in Arthur's back. Gwen drew close, kneeling beside the cot at her husband's shoulder, stroking his face with her hand. He didn't stir.

"How is he?" she asked, voice rough from overuse.

The physician continued to bandage the wound, eyebrows furrowing as he considered her question.

"He is extremely lucky, for one," the man said. "As far as I can tell, nothing vital has been hit. He has no fever, no trouble breathing, no murmurs in his chest—the wound did not even bleed very heavily. He survived miles on a galloping horse, which would kill most anyone who had internal damage. I see nothing that should keep him from making a full recovery."

Gwen took in the man's concerned look.

"But…?" she prompted.

The physician sighed.

"There's something… strange about the wound. The lack of blood, for example. I would normally be encouraged by it, but here, there is no clot, no reason for it to stop. It is as if the wound simply… dried up. There is no irritation or redness in the surrounding skin. The force it took to plunge the sword down—" Gwen swallowed convulsively, "—should leave bruising, but there's nothing. It's almost as if the skin is… dead. I would blame poison, but if it is, I've never seen one like it."

Gwen nodded, closing her eyes for a moment.

"You're Majesty," the physician said. "He needs Gaius."

Gwen opened her eyes, weighing her options. Gaius was in Camelot. They had needed someone they could trust in the citadel, so he stayed behind. The knights that had just returned needed to rest, but resting would not help Arthur. He needed to get to Camelot, quickly. Already forming a plan in her head, she stood, addressing the physician.

"Get him ready to leave. Anything you need—blanket's, bandages, anything—get them quickly and have him ready to travel within the hour.

Without another word, she turned and left the tent. Moving quickly, she approached Percival and Gwaine where they sat, shrouded in blankets near a fire. Percival looked up expectantly when she came and started to rise, but she waved him down and sat across from them. Gwaine just stared into the flames.

"What happened?" she asked quietly.

Percival told her. About Sarrum's dungeon, Merlin's rescue, the fight for their lives. He told her about the unexpected arrival of the sorcerers, and how Arthur got the knights to safety. He told her about Morgana. Then, he looked at Gwaine uncertainly. The other man didn't even notice, still glowering at the fire. Percival continued.

"We were blasted off the stair somehow. Both knocked out. I came to when Gwaine woke me, pulled me up to help Arthur. I did my best to bandage him, while Gwaine…"

Gwaine finally pulled his gaze from the fire to look at Gwen.

"I was looking for Merlin."

Gwen nodded, throat tightening. Since the knights' arrival, her worry for her friend had increased by the minute. She had pushed it aside, focusing on what she needed to do. But now she had to face his absence and what it meant. She knew Merlin would never leave Arthur's side willingly. And he wasn't here.

"Did you… find him?" Gwen kept her voice from breaking, but only just.

"Not a trace," Gwaine replied. "But we had to leave. There were sorcerers everywhere. I don't know why he wasn't there, but I can't believe that he would leave by choice."

"You think they took him." The relief Gwen had felt that Gwaine hadn't found Merlin's dead body was replaced by a new spike of fear.

"I do," Gwaine said. "I can't think why. Especially if they thought Arthur was already dead. Why take Merlin?"

"Maybe they didn't," said Gwen, rubbing her hands over her face. "He could have found a place to hide and wait them out. Merlin's smart."

"So what do we do?" Percival said. Both his and Gwaine's eyes fixed on her. Taking a deep breath, she stood.

"Elyan, Leon!" she called. The two men came quickly. "I need you to divide our fresh troops between you. Any that just rode back stay with me; they need to rest. Leon, you will take a group back to Camelot. Your mission is to get Arthur to Gaius as quickly as possible. You will leave now. Can I count on you?"

Leon bowed low in response.

"Then go," Gwen said. Leon dashed off to organize his men. "Elyan, your group will leave at first light. You will go back to the Sarrum's castle."

"What?" Elyan said. "Why?"

"Elyan, listen," Gwen said as patiently as she could. Her nerves were raw, and she was not in the mood to be questioned. "We need to secure that stronghold. It has weapons and supplies in it that need to be accounted for, as well as documents and letters of state. But more importantly," she laid her hand on his arm, "Merlin is missing. I need him found. Please, Elyan. Can you do this?"

Eyes hardened with determination.

"Of course," he said.

"Be careful, Elyan." Gwen said. "The sorcerers might still be there."

"I will," her brother promised, giving her a quick hug. He moved to sit with Percival and Gwaine, and Gwen turned, heading back to her tent.

"Wait," said Percival. He held the hilt of a sword to Gwen. "We picked this up to defend ourselves on the way out, but it's the sword that stabbed… I'd rather not keep it."

Gwen grasped the hilt as firmly as she could, eyes searching against her will for blood on the blade. Arthur's blood. Forcing a parting smile at the knights, she left.

Inside the tent, Leon was getting last minute instructions from the physician. The two looked up when she entered, then started toward the door to give her some privacy with Arthur. She appreciated that.

"Here," she handed the sword to Leon, keeping her face blank, "This is what he was stabbed with. It might help Gaius."

The compassion in Leon's eyes as he took the sword almost made her break down right there. Almost. Instead, she held her head high as the two men left, then approach the still figure before her.

Gwen sat on the cot beside her husband. He lay on his back now, and looked as if he were sleeping. Gwen took his limp hand in hers, then gently brushed his hair back from his face. She tried not to be disappointed when he didn't stir.

"You're going to be fine," she whispered. "You will. We have too much left to do. You cannot leave yet. I need you here."

Gwen curled up beside her husband, wrapping an arm around his waist and resting her head on his chest. She wanted so desperately for him to hold her that she ached. Finally, she released the tearful sobs that had threated to fall all day.

How could Arthur be this close and yet feel so far away?

* * *

_He stared at the grey waves that rolled gently on the sea. The salt air blew in his face, filling his lungs and dancing through his hair. He looked out as far as he could, to where the waves faded into the grey fog that surrounded the island. At his feet, the water made smooth tracks in the grey sand. A grey bird cried out, and he turned to watch it fly to the grey trees. Something was moving under the trees. A grey figure emerged and came toward him. As it closer, he recognized the man._

Huh,_ he thought, _So, he's dead too.

_The figure stopped a yard or two away._

_"Arthur," the man said uneasily._

_"Merlin," he responded, moving forward. Merlin nervously stepped back._

_"I'm going to kill you!" Arthur yelled, breaking into a run._

_Merlin fled, only to be taken down by the king's flying tackle._

* * *

_(End of Episode One)_


	6. Destiny Divided, Part One

_(AN: Hi there. *sorry* I'm back now, and I've written a lot. *sorry* So, I should be posting new chapters every few days. *i'm SO sorry* I really didn't mean to take so long to post, *sorry sorry* but life's been a bit crazy. *please forgive me* Thanks for sticking with this, *i don't deserve you* and I hope you enjoy Episode 2!)_

_*sorry*_

* * *

The sun climbed steadily over the trees, but it brought no warmth to Guinevere. The silence of the forest was unbroken- no birds sang, no friendly voice greeted the day. The queen hugged herself, trying to chase away the cold that had settled in her bones over that terrible night. Her quiet contemplation was broken as a warm, heavy cloak fell around her shoulders, completely enveloping her and gathering on the ground beneath her feet. She looked up, smiling her thanks to Percival as some of the chill melted from her limbs and her heart. The knight said nothing, but stood beside her, looking comfortable in bare arms despite the cold.

"How do you do it, Percival?" Gwen said, burrowing further into the giant cape.

"Well," Percival said, raising a teasing eyebrow. "I'm from the north, so I'm mostly used to weather like this. And, I figure I've got at least twice as much blood keeping me warm-"

"No, that's-" said Gwen, laughing softly. "That's not what I meant. How do you stay so calm? You never seem shaken or worried. You actually slept through the night! You're... immovable. Like an oak. It makes me feel as if the rest of us are just fluttering around, like leaves caught in a storm."

Gwen felt foolish as soon as the words left her mouth, but Percival looked thoughtful.

"The way I see it," he said. "There are things I can do, and I things can't. If waste my strength on what I can't fix, I won't have any left for the problems that land right in front of me. I can't let that happen."

"It's good advice," Gwen said, nodding. "I wish I knew how to follow it."

"Me too," said a voice beside her. She hadn't noticed Gwaine approach. He looked terrible, face pale and pinched with worry. Gwaine always had a certain wildness about him. Usually it involved ale, loud singing, and something catching fire. Now, it was a quiet, dangerous glint in his eye and tension that radiated from him. He was like a hound that preferred to tussle and play with its pack, but strained at the leash menacingly when on the hunt.

"We should have heard something by now," Gwaine growled. "It's not right. We need to go after them. Now."

"We knew they'd likely meet with opposition," said Guinevere, setting her jaw and trying not to squirm. "Either from the Sarrum's guards or the sorcerers. It will take time for them to overcome, even with the odds in their favor. Then, it'll take more time to secure and search the castle."

"That's why we should go now," argued Gwaine. "What if Merlin doesn't have that much time? Sending more troops would end all of this and get us home sooner."

"Or we could blunder in and ruin Elyan's strategy," said Perceval, not looking at Gwaine.

"Worth the risk," Gwaine said, glaring. "At least we'd know what was happening. Gwen?"

Gwen could hear the vulnerability under the harsh anger. It caused her already shaky resolve to crumble further. Still, she straightened her back and cleared her throat.

"Nightfall," she said. "We wait to move till then. We need to give Elyan more time."

She could feel Gwaine's displeasure rolling off him, but she continued to face forward, resolute. She couldn't fall to pieces now. She wouldn't.

"Fine," he said, in a low dangerous voice.

She felt him move away and allowed her shoulders to drop slightly, breathing in and out deeply.

"You did the right thing," Percival said. "Gwaine will see that in time."

Gwen wrapped her arms around herself once more, cold again even under Percival's cape. She could feel in her bones that none of this would end well. Even if it did, she wasn't sure Gwaine would forgive her for keeping him away from battle. In fact, she was having a hard time forgiving herself.

* * *

Elyan swiped a wrist across his forehead, catching the sweat before it could drip into his eyes. He kept his breathing shallow and light as he pressed his back into the stone wall of the Sarrum's former stronghold. He held out a hand to still the movements of the restless soldiers around him. Holding his breath, he peered into the hallway ahead.

The world exploded.

Dust immediately clouded his vision, reducing the world to a hazy swirls of red and black. His head swam as he tried to get his bearings. His back ached, and there was no air left in his chest. He gasped, only to be choked by smoke and ash. Above his own struggles for breath, he could hear muffled shouts and clashes. Suddenly, the world upended itself around him. There was pressure around his chest, constricting him. Heard another cry, closer, then something sealed over his mouth. He fought, flailing his arms desperately until his hand connected with something soft. There was muffled, "Oomph," and the restrictive arms withdrew.

A new set of hands materialized on his face. He flinched away.

"-lyan... Elyan!" The incoherent sounds finally reorganized themselves into words. Elyan blinked furiously, and the grey splotches withdrew from his vision, revealing one of the younger soldiers of his company. The youth's eyes were wide, almost panicked, but he calmed when he saw Elyan's eyes finally focus on him. A flask appeared in front of him, and Elyan drank gratefully, clearing the grit from his mouth and throat.

He glanced around. He and his men were in a small, dark room, full of barrels and sacks. Everyone from the small scouting party he had brought into the palace were still there, relatively unscathed, if covered with dust and debris from the most recent explosion. To his right, an old, grizzled soldier name Erec was holding his stomach and trying to catch his breath. Elyan winced in sympathy, casting an apologetic look for repaying his rescuer with an elbow to the gut. Smiling, the other man shook his head, showing he understood.

"So," Elyan said, catching his breath. "How many does that make?"

Erec pulled a roll of paper from his shirt. He unfurled the sheet, holding the corners down with small debris from the floor. He used a piece of charcoal to scratch an X onto the rough ink drawing of the fortress.

"Seven," he said sighing. "One at each entrance and major vantage point. They've all been quick to spot us and react, but none of them have given chase. From what I can tell, they're well trained, but there's not more than two at each post. Easy enough to take down."

"Easy enough," Elyan snorted, fishing out a few hunks of shrapnel that had fallen down the back of his shirt during the last assault. "God love you, Erec."

"'Cause we all think you're cracked," muttered Oswin, the youth who still knelt before Elyan. A quiet chuckle went through the men.

"Alright," said Elyan, narrowing his eyes to study the map."I'm not too keen on a frontal assault on any of the guard posts for obvious reasons," He grimaced, running his tongue over the ashy grit that still clung to his teeth. "We know drawing them off doesn't work. We have fifty men against half that number, but we've all seen what our enemies can do. They are brutal and terribly effective."

The men nodded in agreement. Fresh corpses of Sarrum's guards, servants, and courtiers littered the castle. Though Elyan abhorred the Sarrum and those who would follow such a monster, he was chilled by the indiscriminate devastation the sorcerers had wrought.

"So," he continued, thumb worrying his lower lip. "What are our options?"

"Concentrate all our power at the widest entry point?" said Briggs, a stocky knight who was guarding the doorway. "Our advantage is in numbers. We could punch through."

"The main gate's the only entry that's not a bottle neck," said Oswin.

"Never work," Erec said. "It's too exposed. You've got two of them at the gate, then two more looking down from the south tower, another pair within spitting distance on the east wall, not to mention any other devils waiting inside. We want as much cover as we can get."

"I thought we wanted to take the castle for Camelot," said Cole, the last member of their party. "The more we hide behind it, the more they're going to blow it up."

"Maybe that would be enough," an idea sprang like a spark on tinder in Elyan's mind. "We want to claim the castle, the weapons, all of it for Camelot. But we need it out of Mordred's hands."

Erec nodded slowly, "Better destroyed than used against us. There's enough wood throughout the castle to make a strong blaze."

"We wouldn't have to completely destroy it," Cole said, latching onto the idea. "Just make enough to trouble for them to abandon their posts."

"Right," Elyan said, but catching Erec's eye, he could tell the seasoned soldier wasn't convinced. Neither was Elyan. Fire wasn't something they could predict or control. The whole fortress would likely be a burnt out shell by sunset, gutted of its tapestries, furnishings, and all the poor souls trapped within. Which meant...

"I need to stay behind." Elyan said. "If Merlin's still here somewhere, I have to find him."

"I'm with you." Erec said.

"But-" Elyan started.

"I'm with you," the older man repeated firmly, making Elyan wonder just which of them was the knight here. "Oswin's coming too."

"I am?" the young man started, raising an eyebrow. He schooled his features under Erec's glare "Right, of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

Elyan just shook his head. It would be nice to have help. Cole crossed to join Briggs at the door.

"We'll go back and get things ready with the rest. We're going to need arrows, oil, maybe wax..." Cole seemed to lose himself in mental preparations for a moment before his eyes sprang back to present. "How long do you need in here?"

Elyan sighed, leaning back and scrubbing a hand over his dust-covered face as he thought. It was midmorning now. It would take time to sneak past the guards and conduct a proper search. If they didn't find Merlin, if he was still in the castle when Elyan went through with his plan...

Well, he wouldn't have to live with the guilt for long. He knew at least a dozen people who would be out for blood if the servant was harmed, including two monarchs and half the round table. And good luck getting help once they found a way to stab him or poison him or throw him off a tower. Gaius would happily watch him writhe if he let anything happened to his ward.

"Sundown," Elyan said. "That will give us time and provide some cover for the attack."

Cole nodded, and together he and Briggs slipped into the hall. Elyan bowed his head, gathering strength and calm for the mission ahead.

"Right," he said, standing once more. "Let's get to it."

* * *

The quiet was getting to Leon. After crossing the countryside at a pounding gallop, pushing through the ceaseless noise of the lower city, and sprinting down the echoing corridors of the citadel, the silence of Gauis' chambers felt like a physical weight on his shoulders. It was like being under water, everything muffled and dim.

The physician was currently examining his patient. Leon sat, not pacing or questioning or brooding as another knight would've. He simply watched, knowing he had done all he could, and that Arthur's fate was out of his hands now. Still, he followed Gaius' movements carefully for any hint of emotion- sadness, relief, worry- that would give Leon some clue to how his young king faired. Aside from a tightening around the old man's eyes, Leon could glean nothing.

Fortunately, it seemed as though Gaius could read his thoughts.

"I wish I had more to tell you," the old man sighed, "This wound... it's like nothing I've seen before. And this blade. There's magic here. Ancient, powerful, magic. I doubt the Sarrum knew what he was dealing with."

Leon swallowed past the uncomfortable tightness in his throat.

"What do we do?" He asked.

Gaius pulled down a stack of heavy volumes. Dust rose in a cloud as he dropped them on the table before Leon.

"Start reading."

* * *

_Merlin sighed. The unchanging grey landscape before him offered nothing to distract his tired eyes. Everything about the place was still and quiet, like the moments before falling asleep, dim and half-remembered._

_"AAAAAAARGH!"_

_Almost everything._

_A figure streaked past him, his strides throwing sand into the warlock's face, before crashing into the water. His steps slowed until he was chest deep in the water, doing a floating little run that Merlin would have found quite funny under different circumstances. The water rose no higher, and the figure continued to bob forward with determination._

_Merlin was tempted to call out, but after the first, second, and third times his words had been ignored, he had given up. Now, he watched with mild interest as the shadowy form got dimmer and dimmer before finally disappearing into the mist._

_For a few moments, there was silence. Nothing moved._

_Three, two, one..._

_Water splashed behind him, from the other side of the island. There was heavy breathing, some shuffling, and then..._

_"DAMMIT!"_

_There was more panting, along with a sound he supposed was Arthur throwing rocks, kicking trees, and taking his frustration out on various other inanimate objects. That had been his reaction the first dozen times they'd been through this. At least Merlin wasn't close enough to Arthur to bear the brunt of his anger; though that would mean that Arthur acknowledged his existence, which hadn't happened since the first ten-minutes of their arrival. That had been... hours ago? Days? The unchanging dullness of the sky gave no clue as to the passage of time. He supposed he could keep time by tracking Arthur's escape attempts, but what was the point of any of it?_

_Merlin was tired. He was tired of giving his all and falling short. He was tired of of his efforts coming to nothing. Tired of struggling, tired of hurting. Tired of caring. Just... tired._

_He left himself fall backward onto the soft sand, closing his eyes._

_He tried not to hear the footsteps as they drew closer, as the body settled on the shore close by, but not too close. Not as close as he would have before..._

_Merlin was tired._


	7. Destiny Divided, Part Two

_(AN: Glad to see you guys are still with me! Thanks so much for the encouraging reviews. I'm going to try to have the next chapter up in a few days. Thanks again!)_

* * *

Gwaine, possibly for the first time ever, wished Arthur was here. As much as he teased and twitted the princess, he knew Arthur wouldn't be sitting on his hands while a friend was in danger. Especially not when that friend was Merlin.

He went back to mending a small tear his cape, trying to keep his mind off the fact that the sun had just barely reached its peak in the sky, and there were still hours before sunset, and anything could happen to Merlin in that time-

He threw his cape down violently. Bracing his elbows on his knees, he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to banish the images that cropped up every time he thought of his friend. His stomach knotted as he gathered up his cape, needle, and thread once more.

What was wrong with Gwen? He could see her now, talking with the soldiers. _Smiling._ Her friend and her brother were both out there fighting, maybe injured, maybe worse, and she wanted to wait? What was the point? How could reinforcements do anything but help? And Percival was just as bad. And he had been there! He had seen the bodies littering the castle as they made their escape. He had seen the sorcerers coming back, retaking the fortress. What had he said when Gwaine tried to stay behind and find Merlin? _There's too many of them. We'll take Arthur to safety, then come straight back with more men._ So much for that promise. So much for the fellowship of the knights. So much for all their fine talk about bravery and loyalty and-

_RIIIIIP_

Gwaine looked down at his shaking hands and the scarlet cape that now lay in pieces before him.

Well, he supposed that was fitting, because he was _done._

Leaving his cape on the ground, he stood and casually made his way back to where the horses were tied. A soldier he didn't know was standing guard. Not ideal, but it had be a while since Gwaine had gotten to knock someone over the head. He made his way forward quietly, searching out the horse he had ridden the night before.

"Take a break, Sam," called a soft, strong voice. "I'll take over for a while."

Gwaine turned in time to see the soldier, presumably Sam, pat Percival gratefully on the arm before striding back toward the main camp, never noticing Gwaine. Unlike Percival, who stared right at him.

Gwaine dropped his stealth and began to saddle his chosen horse, the steady mare that had brought him to camp last night. With an uncomfortable jolt, he realized that it was Merlin's horse.

_Focus._

Finally, his mount was ready to go. Percival still hadn't spoken, but Gwaine could feel his eyes on his back.

Gwaine swung himself into the saddle, and then looked back at the man he had thought was his closest friend.

Percival looked at him steadily, and then nodded. He wouldn't go with Gwaine, but he wouldn't stop him. He valued his friendship with Gwaine, but Camelot came first.

Gwaine almost wished he could be that way. Dedicated to the cause. Giving it all up for the greater good.

Giving a final nod to his friend, Gwaine turned his back on the greater good and rode off for a lesser good that meant far more to him.

* * *

_Arthur thought he was handling things quite well considering._

_Considering that his sister was not only alive, but now free._

_Considering his best friend was a secret warlock._

_Considering he had been stabbed by the druid boy he had helped rescue._

_Considering he was trapped on a make-believe, magical island with the one person he wanted to avoid above all others._

_Considering all of that, the fact that he wasn't curled up and crying like a small child seemed like a victory._

_At least he had tried. At least he wasn't lying there, resigned to spending eternity in this dull no-where land. As much as he wanted to ignore his companion, he was growing more and more irritated with the man's apathy. Especially considering that this was all his fault in the first place._

_Arthur picked up a handful of moist sand. He watched as trail of water and grit escaped the main clump and traveled down his wrist. For a moment, he considered the mushy mass before him._

_Then, he lobbed it into Merlin's face._

_The result was... satisfying._

_After the initial shocked gasping and sputtering and the subsequent outraged glare, Merlin rose indignantly and strode away. Arthur watched him leave for a moment, then turned an faced the other direction. Soon, Merlin rounded the other side of the island and was walking back toward Arthur. He nearly tripped over his king as he tried to clear the mud out of his eyes. He stopped, startled at seeing Arthur before him._

_"Hello," Arthur said, trying to replicate the infuriating cheer Merlin greeted him with every morning._

_The servant merely glared at him and turned away from the shore, stalking toward the tree line. Arthur heard him settle in the scant forest, spitting and blowing sand from his mouth and nose._

_The satisfaction he had felt earlier was beginning to fade. So, purely as a distraction, he called out._

_"Don't be such a girl, Merlin."_

_No answer. That was fine. Arthur didn't care._

_"What, no smart answer? No made-up words to insult me?"_

_Still nothing. Dammit. It wasn't that he cared. He didn't. But if anyone should be ignoring anyone, Arthur should be ignoring Merlin, not the other way around._

_"You know, I'm the one who should be ignoring you."_

_Silence. Why did he care? He shouldn't. After all, Merlin had been lying to him for years._

_"Since you're the one that has been _lying_ to me for _years!_"_

_He wanted answers. He wanted to understand. But in leu of that, abusing Merlin had it's own charms._

_"What, did that mud ball finish you off? I knew it. The moment I'm not there to hold your hand, you roll over and-"_

_"Ha!"_

_Arthur spun around. He could just see Merlin's back through the shadows of the trees. The other man was sitting stiffly, obviously trying to ignore his master._

_"What was that?" Arthur said, rising._

_"Oh, nothing, sire," Merlin said, not looking around. "Just stupid, clumsy old Merlin, the drunkard. Never mind, me, I can't possibly have said anything important."_

_"Are you offended?" Arthur asked as he walk forward to stand in front of his servant. He took in the other man's flushed cheeks and scowling face. "You are! We are trapped on a magical island with no clue how to get away, I've been stabbed, you've just told me you're a sorcerer, and you're on your dignity because I threw mud on you!"_

_"Warlock."_

_"What?"_

_"I'm a warlock. Not a sorcerer. There's a difference."_

_"Wow. That is fascinating stuff, Merlin, and I'd love to hear more, only I don't care."_

_"You should care!" Merlin shouted, finally meeting Arthur's eyes._

_"Why?"_

_"Because I didn't choose to practice magic." Merlin said, standing. "It chose me."_

_"Ah," Arthur said as he walked away. "That's a great line. You should write a ballad with it."_

_"It's true, Arthur," said Merlin, following him._

_"I've never heard you sing, but I'm guessing you were a fine soprano until a year or two ago."_

_"Don't you believe me?" Merlin said._

_"Fine!" Arthur said, spinning to face him. "Yes, Merlin, I believe you, though based on recent events, I don't know why. The thing is, I don't care if you chose it or it chose you. It's not your choice of practicing magic that bothers me."_

_"It's not?" Merlin looked shocked, and Arthur was scarcely less surprised himself. But he had never hated Morgana, Morguase, or anyone else merely because of magic. It was something else._

_"You lied, Merlin," he felt defeated just saying it. "You lied for years. And you kept lying."_

_Merlin's shoulders slumped._

_"I know," Merlin said, sounding weary like he did sometimes. "And Arthur, there were so many times I wanted to tell you... Actually, I did tell you once."_

_It was true, and it was one of the things Arthur had been calling himself ten kinds of fool over._

_"You were trying to save Gwen." Arthur said almost smiling. Then, he thought of another thing and all humor faded. "And... Dragoon. That was you, wasn't it?"_

_If he had punched Merlin in the stomach, it would have had the same effect. Looking away, the servant nodded._

_Arthur nodded as well, turning back to the shore once more. He sighed, running a hand across his lower lip. He had known the answer before he asked the question. Still, it was hard to take in._

_"I didn't mean for him to die," Merlin's voice was small behind him._

_Arthur breathed out heavily, looking up as moisture gathered in his eyes. The salty air was getting to him._

_"I know," he answered._

_There was a long pause. A warm hand fell on his shoulder._

_"I'm so sorry," Merlin whispered. And if his voice trembled a little, Arthur wasn't going to mention it._

_"I know," Arthur finally looked back at Merlin. Something in his chest that had been tight and painful for a long time finally loosened and settled. Then, he noticed something strange._

_"Merlin," he said as calmly as he could. "Why is your arm see-through?"_

* * *

"Gaius!" Leon shouted as he lurched onto his stiff legs. "Look at this!"

The physician quickly took the aged scroll and held it to the late afternoon sunlight that streamed through the window.

"This could be it..." he said, squinting at the faded drawings. "I can't make out much of the writing... here's something, 'taken from the tree Barnstokkr in the hall of...' it fades out again."

"I think I can make this bit out," said Leon, pointing to a passage further down the page. "'...shattered by the spear.. reforged by the son...dragons fear...' I can't make out more that. It's not much help."

"Let me take a closer look at the drawing," Gaius said, retrieving a large, domed crystal from a nearby table. Placing it over the page, he leaned in to peer closely at the image. "It is almost certainly the same sword. The markings are quite distinctive. And there's writing here... 'Once shattered, now reforged.'"

"How does that help us?" asked Leon.

"It doesn't," said Gaius. "But if it means what I think, it may very well help him. Or, if my suspicions are right, _them._"


	8. Destiny Divided, Part Three

_(AN: I'm upping the rating content rating, just to be safe. There is pain and war-related tragedy in this chapter. I doubt it will bother most readers, but there will be injuries and death in upcoming chapters. The suggestive adult content and language will remain at K+ or lower for the duration of the story. Thanks for reading and reviewing. Hope you enjoy!)_

* * *

"Here we are," said Gaius, dropping yet another huge volume in front of Leon. "The sword Gramr. In the lore of the north, across the sea, it was said that the gods planted this sword in the roots of an ancient tree where it held fast. Only a great hero could claim it."

"Oddly familiar," said Leon.

"Yes," said Gaius, reminding himself to have a chat with Merlin about using great legends for his own theatrics. If anyone more inquisitive than Leon read this story, they might have some very uncomfortable questions about tale he'd spun for Arthur of the Sword in the Stone. "When such a man came and claimed the sword, the gods regretted letting it go. They attacked the hero, killing him and shattering the sword. Years later, his son brought the shards to a sorcerer, who reforged the weapon, making it ten times more powerful. It could slay dragons and slice anvils in two. How the Sarrum came upon it, I have no idea. I'm sure he couldn't have imagined the true extent of its power."

"But what does that mean for Arthur?" asked Leon, forgetting to address his king's station in his worry.

"I cannot say for certain," said Gaius, brow furrowing. "The magic of this sword is old and powerful, but not evil. It has a life of its own, a sense of justice. My guess is that it didn't _want_ to kill him."

"It's a sword," Leon said flatly.

"An ancient, magical sword," pressed Gaius. "A sword of gods. Whose to say that it couldn't choose whom to kill and whom to spare?"

Leon looked thoughtfully into Arthur's still face.

"Then why won't he wake?" he said in a small voice.

Gaius sighed.

"The history of this sword is rich," he said, sitting beside the knight. "It has seen bloodshed and betrayal. It has been shattered and remade. Perhaps it seeks to share its wisdom. For now, the king seems to be in a deep trance. We can only hope that the magic of the sword releases him in due time."

* * *

_"That sword..." Merlin said. "As soon is it touched my... my magic, I knew there was more to it. Any normal sword would have weakened it, maybe, but that sword... it didn't just slash through my magic. It... broke it."_

_"What about now? Could you use your... I mean is it alright now?" Arthur asked._

_"Do you want me to try?" Merlin asked. He watched Arthur closely. It was hard to read his expression, what with them both being slightly transparent. Still, he could see his friend pale._

_"Never mind," Merlin sighed. "I'm not sure it would work here either way. This place is so full of magic, it'd be like lighting a torch on a sunny day."_

_"Anyway, that's beside the point," Arthur said, clearly trying to get onto a more comfortable subject. "The point is, why did getting struck by that sword send us here, and why are we fading away? Are we... you know..."_

_"Dead?" Merlin supplied. "I don't think so. I think-at least I hope-death will be a bit more interesting. No, it just seems as though our souls have been temporarily separated from our bodies."_

_"I dunno, Merlin, that sounds a bit like death to me."_

_"Well, sure, if we stayed here. But we're fading. We must be going back."_

_"We're not fading anymore," said Arthur, looking sullen._

_Merlin thought for a moment. He was fairly sure he knew how to get back to the real world, he just wasn't sure Arthur would go for it._

_"When we faded before," he said carefully. "It was when we were talking."_

_"I don't know how it was in Ealdor," Arthur said raising an eyebrow. "But see, where I come from, this thing we're doing right now where we move our mouths and funny sounds come out, that's called talking."_

_"I mean _really_ talking," said Merlin, frustrated. "Talking about us."_

_"'Us?'" Arthur said looking disgusted._

_"Yes, Arthur!" Merlin all but bellowed. "You and me and my magic."_

_Arthur went quiet for a moment._

_"Alright, Merlin," he said, staring the servant down. "Which part do you want to talk about? The fact that you lied to me for years, betrayed my trust, deliberately put Camelot in danger-"_

_"I would never put Camelot in danger," said Merlin, stepping up to Arthur, temper flaring once more. "I have given everything to protect Camelot, to protect you!"_

_"I never asked for that!" shouted Arthur. "Protecting Camelot is my duty, not yours."_

_"I have a right to protect my home and my friends as much as you, _sire_!"_

_"Protect them?!" Arthur scoffed. "You protect people _from_ magic, not _with_ it. Whatever good magic can do, it does more harm."_

_"Maybe it does!" Merlin shouted, surprising himself a little. "Maybe it does. But so does any weapon, and this is what I have! I don't have a sword or a crown or an army, I have magic. It's _all_ I have."_

_Arthur looked stricken, and Merlin almost regretted his words. Almost._

_"This is who I am, Arthur," he said. "It's who I've always been, and it doesn't have to change anything. I mean, I know it changes everything. But it doesn't have to change... us."_

_Arthur looked thoughtful. Still wary, still a bit angry, but thoughtful. Merlin pressed on._

_"I have lied," he said, feeling stronger as he spoke. "But only when there wasn't another choice. And all those times I said you'd be a great King, that you'd bring justice and peace to Albion, I believe that. That's no lie. But magic isn't your enemy, Arthur. And neither am I."_

_Merlin tried to keep his face impassive, but inside he was nearly bursting with hope. This could be the moment when all he had worked for came through, and magic finally returned. It was all up to Arthur._

_"Merlin," Arthur said, finally. "I think you know what your friendship means to me- alright, don't start crying into your petticoat- and you know I trust you. Whatever else has happened, I know you would never knowingly put Camelot in danger. Hell, you've helped save it... probably more times than I know."_

_Arthur smiled, and Merlin laughed aloud, feeling lightheaded with exhilaration. He couldn't believe it was finally happening!_

_"So," Arthur continued. "As long as I have your word that your days of practicing magic are over, we can go home and pretend this never happened."_

_Merlin's heart plummeted to his feet._

_"What?" he said breathlessly._

_"I forgive you," said Arthur, resting his hand on Merlin's shoulder. "And I know you were only trying to do what's right. But now that I know, I can't have you practicing magic in Camelot."_

_Arthur laughed, as if it was a joke._

_"Then," Merlin said, forcing the words past the painful lump in his throat. "I have to leave Camelot."_

* * *

"Come on, Oswin," Elyan panted, straining as he supported the younger man. "Almost there."

In reality, he wasn't sure if they were "almost" anywhere. He was simply following Erec, all of his attention focused on the old soldier as he led them forward. All that existed was Erec's back before him, the stones beneath his heavy feet, and the sound of pursuit behind.

Suddenly, Erec disappeared from sight. Before Elyan's weary mind could fully grasp the change, an arm shot out, pulling him and Oswin through a door before closing it again quickly.

Facing the door, both men held their breaths as the voices and running footfalls grew closer. Oswin, not fully aware, let out a small moan. Quick as lighting, Erec clapped a hand over the young soldier's mouth. He and Elyan watched the door tensely as their enemies passed. As the noise quieted, they finally relaxed and looked around the room.

It was a bed chamber. Elyan glanced at Erec, who immediately helped carry the unresponsive Oswin over to the bed. Both men worked to remove the man's shirt, exposing a deep wound just below his left collarbone.

"Damn," Erec whispered, pressing a handful of the sheets into the wound to stop the flow of blood. "Did you see how it happened, sir?"

"It... it was his own sword," Elyan said, fighting to catch his breath. "Maybe the fourth or fifth time they blasted us into a wall. We hit hard... we fell. I heard him cry out. When I pulled him up, the sword came out. I knew it was bad, but we had to run."

Erec nodded, jaw clenched. Elyan silently cursed the fact that they'd left their mail and armor behind. They had entered the castle wall through a drain, swimming underwater; even bringing swords had been a challenge. But with a mail shirt, Oswin's injury would've been little more than a bruise.

Elyan stared at the Oswin for a moment. The young soldier had joined the army just that spring. He had a mother, father, three younger siblings, and a sweetheart in the country that he wrote love letters to. Only a week ago, Gwaine had stolen one and read a poem from it aloud as its red-faced author chased him around the courtyard. Now, Oswin's face was lax, and white as the sheets below him.

"This bleeding won't stop," Erec growled, pressing even harder on the wound.

"I'll see if there's something here to sew it up," Elyan said, straightening. He headed for a row of cupboards that lined the back wall of the chamber. Focused on his task, he nearly tripped over the body that lay sprawled on the floor, hidden from view by a low couch.

It was a young woman. Younger than Gwen. She was dead. Probably had been since yesterday. Looking into her face, Elyan allowed grief and anger to wash over him for a moment. Her lovely features were contorted in fear and pain, one hand stretched desperately before her. Elyan followed her frozen stare and felt his own heart freeze.

There was a cradle in the corner.

Elyan made his way to it on unsteady legs. He didn't want to look. He knew what he would find. But maybe, just maybe one of the sorcerers had shown mercy. As he approached the tiny bed, he remembered standing on tiptoe beside a similar crib years ago and meeting his baby sister for the first time. Seeing her bright eyes looking back at him. Reaching down to grasp her warm little hand.

There was no brightness or warmth in this crib.

Elyan swallowed through the urge to be sick and turned back to the task at hand. Rummaging through the cupboards with numb fingers, he pressed down his cold horror and buried it with burning anger at the monsters who had done this. They had killed these innocent souls when they should have known better than anyone the evil- and the consequences- of such actions. Though it had been months since Elyan had carelessly drunk from the Shrine in the woods, he knew he would never forget the pain and anger of the dead Druid boy that had haunted him after. How many restless spirits such as that now roamed this castle, thanks to the sorcerers' hate?

Finally, he came across a needle and thread. He dashed back to the bed with it and handed it to Erec.

"Right, take this," the soldier said, indicating the cloth over the wound. Elyan did as he was told. He didn't mind letting the older man give orders. Erec had over thirty years of experience in battle, and a soldier in Camelot didn't survive that long without knowing something about field medicine. "Try and keep it covered where I'm not sewing, and wipe the blood away where I am."

It was tricky, slippery work. Elyan got through it by trying to imagine it was broken waterskin under his hands instead of Oswin's blood and skin. The warmth and stickiness ruined the illusion, as did the younger man's unconscious moans. Giving up on that strategy, Elyan instead forced his mind onto other things, namely, what they would do next.

His idea to search for Merlin had proved fruitless. There were sorcerers everywhere. Their small group had barely been making headway as it was, and now Oswin was... well, Elyan needed to rethink things.

"Done," Erec said curtly, wiping his blood-soaked hands on the sheets as Elyan did the same. The older man then straightened, wincing as his tense muscles protested, and glanced around the room for the first time. Elyan saw his eyes widen as they settled on the crib, and he automatically took a step toward it. The knight quickly laid a hand on the soldier's arm, stopping him. Meeting the older man's eyes, he sadly shook his head.

Erec's eyes darkened, and his jaw clenched. He turned away, gripping the back of a nearby chair. If the need for stealth hadn't stopped him, Elyan was sure he would have thrown it across the room. The old soldier took his duty to protect the weak seriously, be it the green patrols under his care or a babe in a foreign castle. And Erec adored children. Elyan had seen this warrior-who could make grown men flee in battle-morph into a placid pony to give rides to his grandchildren. The knight still remembered their squeals of joy as they clung to their grandfather's back, galloping around the practice yards.

Elyan reached out a supportive hand, but Erec was already moving away. He had found a pitcher of water and a basin. Elyan retrieved two cups from a nearby shelf and brought them to the table where Erec was already filling the basin. As the two men washed and drank in tense silence, Elyan's eyes wandered to the window. Daylight was fading quickly. If he didn't find a way out soon, he would burn, and his men along with him. His stomach knotted as he admitted what he'd realized hours ago: they had to leave. Without Merlin.

"Let's rest here for a while more," he whispered. "See if Oswin comes around. But whether he does or not, we need to get out of here. If we stay, we'll just get ourselves killed."

Erec nodded, eye softening in understanding. Elyan turned away, sinking into a nearby chair. Fatigue dragged at his very soul. Wherever Merlin was, Elyan hoped he could find his own way out, and find a way to forgive him.

* * *

_Merlin wanted to leave? It felt as if the servant had slapped him in the face. Again. Arthur was more shocked now then he'd been moment he'd realized Merlin had magic. Because in that moment, Merlin had been protecting him. Which is what they did, he and Merlin. They looked out for each other. Through immortal armies and dorocha and death, they kept each other safe and sane. Together._

_"I see," said Arthur, but he didn't really. "So, you are willing to give up your home, your friends, everything to continue practicing magic. A few conjurer's tricks mean more to you than any of us, is that it?"_

_"You don't understand," said Merlin, striding away in anger._

_"No, I _really_ don't," Arthur fired back, following him. "Because just a few minutes ago, you were telling me how much Camelot meant to you and how much you believed in me. But obviously, you don't really mean that. Obviously, you care more about magic, so maybe you should just join Mordred's little army and-"_

_The punch took Arthur by surprise, which is the only reason he stumbled backward and fell. Not because the punch had more force than he would have ever expected. No, if he had been prepared for it, he would've stayed on his feet._

_Probably._

_The strangest part was, Merlin wasn't apologizing or helping him up. He was standing tall, looking angrier than Arthur had ever seen him._

_"You deserved that," Merlin said in a soft, deadly voice. "Don't _ever_ compare me to them. Do you know how easy it would be for me to join them? How quickly every kingdom would fall to us if I did? How hard it was to resist that when everyone treated me like a helpless half-wit? You are a king, and you're treated like one. I could rule over all and was treated as less than nothing."_

_Arthur stared, processing the truth of that statement, thinking of every time he had belittled or ignored Merlin over the years, especially in the beginning._

_"Is that why you want to leave?" He asked, not meeting Merlin's eyes._

_"No," Merlin seemed to deflate, sitting on the forest floor across from Arthur. "I don't _want_ to leave at all."_

_"Then don't," Arthur said, trying not to plead. "Whatever happened to, 'I'm happy to be your servant till the day I die?'"_

_Arthur would never forget the day Merlin told him that. At first, he hadn't really understood the depth of that vow. But Merlin had proved himself time and again, staying by Arthur's side, refusing to be pushed away. The king had somehow come to count on that constancy more than sword or armor._

_Merlin's eyes became distant. He looked old._

_"I still feel that way," Merlin said. "While there is breath in my body, I will serve you. I will serve Camelot. But I've learned that serving you doesn't always mean obeying you. And sometimes, leaving your side is the only way to protect you. And to do what's right."_

_The two men sat in silence as Merlin's words settled. Arthur scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling tired._

_"You leaving isn't right, Merlin," he said quietly._

_"Then don't make me," came the equally quiet reply._


	9. Destiny Divided, Part Four

_(AN: First of all, I love you guys. I've been having trouble finding the time to respond to reviews, but they are _so_ encouraging. Really, they are what keep me writing. I hope I don't disappoint you guys. This should be the second to last chapter of this episode, and I've got the last chapter mostly finish. I'll post as soon as I can. You know, this stuff was much easier to keep up with when I was in college... Oh well. Enjoy!)_

* * *

For the first time since he and Percival had set foot in Amata, Gwaine knew he was on the right path. His horse surged beneath him, hooves pounding on the road that pointed toward his friends. And if he missed the now familiar weight of a red cape swooshing along behind him... well, sometimes friendship had a cost.

Soon enough, the Sarrum's palace loomed before him, though it looked a bit more ventilated than when he'd last seen it. He smirked at that, almost liking the sorcerers and their explosions for a moment. Almost.

Dismounting, he looped his horse's reins around a branch- tight enough to keep her from wandering, loose enough that she could get away if she needed to. Giving her a pat and hoping he'd be able to come back for her soon, he started through the trees.

Soon, he heard noises ahead. He drew his sword silently and crept forward. Peering through the trees, he saw soldiers busying themselves with various preparations. He recognized many familiar faces amongst them. It was really a bit embarrassing that he had been able to sneak up on a portion of Camelot's army so easily. He was half tempted to appear right in their midst and give them a proper fright. But it would be hard to help Merlin and Elyan if one of these toss buckets got jumpy and put an arrow in his arse. So instead, he walked toward them, making some noise so he wouldn't startle anyone.

Several of the soldiers still jumped, but they recognized him immediately and rushed over, offering smiles he quickly returned. He had drunk many a pint with these lads, and he was relieved, if confused, to see them outside the castle and unharmed.

"Briggs," he said, clasping arms with a nearby soldier. Briggs was a good man, which is why Gwaine liked playing cards with him- he couldn't bluff, and he always paid up. "What's going on here? I thought you were meant to be taking the castle. Where's Elyan?"

The other men wandered back to their tasks as Briggs drew him aside.

"The castle is crawling with sorcerers," Briggs said. "Sir Elyan took a group of us in to scout. We could hardly take three steps before one of them shot a spell at us. One nearly blew Sir Elyan's head off. After that, we knew that we couldn't take the castle with them guarding it that way. So..."

Briggs looked at the men around them, and Gwaine followed his gaze. Looking more closely, he could see that they were wrapping cloths around arrow heads, filling bottles with oil, and coating balls of rags with wax.

"You're going to burn them out?" Gwaine was impressed. It was an aggressive but neat strategy, except for one problem. "What about Merlin? Have you found him? And where's Elyan?"

"Sir Gwaine?" Briggs and the knight looked over as the crisp, clear voice cut through their conversation. Gwaine sighed inwardly as a young soldier named Cole made his way over. Cole was as suspicious as Briggs was open. He didn't get drunk, and he always quit while he was ahead when gambling. No fun at all.

"Cole," Gwaine nodded respectfully. "I've been looking for Elyan. Where is he?"

"Why?" said Cole, narrowing his eyes. "Did the Queen send you, Sir?"

"Of course," said Gwaine, tossing back his hair confidently. "And now, I need to talk to her brother. Where is he?"

"The Queen sent you?" Cole said, with a glare just shy of impertinence.

"You don't think she'd trust me?" said Gwaine, throwing his own glare at the soldier.

"I'm sure she does, Sir," said Cole seriously. "I just don't believe she'd send you off alone after being held captive for so long. And why send a messenger at all? Why not come herself?"

Gwaine tried to look unfazed, but he was starting to feel a bit desperate. Cole was smart, and- beyond the fact that this little chat was a waste of time- he would arrest Gwaine once he figured out that the knight had deserted his Queen. And Cole would find out. He was a good soldier. Gwaine almost felt bad for what he was about to do.

"You're right," Gwaine said, earning surprised looks from both Briggs and Cole. "It is odd for her to send me. Which is why she wrote a letter explaining things. I tell you, that woman thinks of everything. I was sure I wouldn't need it, since I thought you would _trust me_, but I guess I was wrong. The letter is with my horse, a way back in the woods. I'll just go and fetch it-"

"Nice try," Cole said, stepping forward. "But you're not going anywhere on your own, _Sir_. Briggs and I will accompany you to retrieve this *letter*."

Gwaine smirked.

"As you wish."

* * *

_The silence was heavy. They were at an impasse, and Merlin couldn't see a way out of it. If only he could make Arthur understand about magic. It wasn't just something Merlin could _do_, but who he _was_. It would be like asking Arthur to give up his sword- no, more than that- his throne. Something central to his identity. Just as Arthur was King Arthur, Merlin was Emrys._

He would have given that up for Gwen,_ Merlin thought. _Maybe I am being selfish. Maybe it would be better to stay and not use magic. I could still advise him and protect Camelot. Maybe in time, he would change his mind.

_"If I stayed," Merlin said, not looking at Arthur. "What would that be like?"_

_"It would be just like before," Arthur said, sounding... maybe hopeful?_

_"No," Merlin said, meeting his eyes. Definitely hopeful. "It really wouldn't."_

_Arthur looked away, arms crossing._

_"Well, then tell me," he said, looking everywhere but at Merlin. "What was it like before?"_

_"You really want to know?" Merlin said quietly._

_Arthur looked at the ground before him, shoulders tense. Finally, he met Merlin's eyes again._

_"Yes."_

_"Okay," said Merlin, blowing out a long breath and running both hands through his hair as he tried to figure out how he was even going to _do_ this. "Right, well, most of the time, it started with a magical threat. A sorcerer trying to kill you or Uther or me even, or someone wanting to rule the kingdom, or a magical creature, or a curse, or some combination of all of them... you get the idea. So, I'd tell Gaius, and we'd look through all these books trying to find a way to defeat it, and then I'd tell you about it, and you wouldn't believe me. Usually I'd get fired or arrested or thrown in the stocks at that point, but not in the last few years- thanks for that. I'd get cryptic advice from the dr- an old friend... but that was mostly about destiny and didn't really help. Gaius would find a way to fix the problem, tell me it was too dangerous, and then let me go anyway. You'd get knocked out, I'd almost get killed, and the villain would gloat. But then I'd win and find a way to give you all the credit. And... maybe some playful banter at the end? Yeah, that's pretty much it."_

_Merlin glanced back at Arthur, who was looking at him slack-jawed._

_"So... um..." said Merlin. "What part of that do you want to change?"_

* * *

A suspicious as Cole was, he didn't see the punch coming at all.

Gwaine had made sure they were far enough away from the group not to draw attention before knocking the other man out. Briggs stood there for a moment, shocked. That was all Gwaine needed. He quickly grabbed the other man's arm, twisting it behind his back and pushing him against a tree. It wasn't enough to hurt him, just to keep him from going for a weapon or running for aide.

"Gwaine," Briggs said hoarsely. "What are you _doing_!?"

"I'm sorry," Gwaine said, meaning it. "And I'll buy Cole a pint to make up for it when this is all over. But I'm not supposed to be here, strictly speaking, and I don't have time to get arrested right now. I need to know where Elyan is. I need to help him and Merlin."

He let go of Briggs and stepped back, holding is arms out peacefully. The soldier stared at him tensely for a moment. Then, he slumped, rubbing his forehead.

"Aw, Gwaine," he sighed. "You're going to lose your knighthood over this, you know that?"

"Never was one for titles anyway," Gwaine shrugged, ignoring the tight feeling in his chest. "Please, where are they?"

"In the castle," Briggs answered. "Elyan stayed behind with Oswin and Erec to look for Merlin. We're to wait for them until sundown, then burn it."

"Damn," Gwaine cursed, looking at the sky. Sundown was less than an hour away, and if Cole was in charge, there would be no delay. Cole followed orders to the letter. That was another thing that annoyed Gwaine.

"I'm worried too," Briggs said. He looked at Gwaine hard for a moment, then seemed to make up his mind. "There's a drainage gate on the west side of the wall. You'll have to leave your armor. If you can hold your breath and swim under it, you'll make it in. I'd go with you, but my orders are clear, and I've a family to feed."

"I understand," Gwaine said. He had already abandoned the Queen and assaulted soldiers of Camelot. His choices would likely be banishment or prison, if he even he made it out of the burning castle full of sorcerers alive. "Um... look, I don't want you to get in trouble... so..."

"I think you'll owe me _two_ pints after this," Briggs said, sighing and kneeling in front of Gwaine.

"Too right, mate," Gwaine said, placing a hand on Brigg's shoulder and bringing back his fist.

"Don't hit the teeth," the soldier requested, holding up a hand. "My wife really likes my teeth."

"Got it," said Gwaine before swiftly knocking the other man out cold. "Your wife has good taste."

Shaking out his sore hand, he headed toward the castle's west wall.

* * *

_Arthur's head was swimming. Merlin had just admitted that he was responsible for most of the heroics done in Camelot, but had let Arthur take all the credit. And he wanted to know what Arthur wanted to change?_

_"All of it," the king said abruptly. Was his voice too loud? It felt really loud. "Change all of it." Better._

_"Well, I'm sorry, Arthur," said Merlin, seeming miffed. "I protected Camelot as well as I could under the circumstances. If you have a problem with my strategy-"_

_"Strategy?!" Arthur blurted. "Your _strategy_, as you call it, seems to start with sneaking around, proceed to almost dying, and end with making me look like a fool."_

_"What?" Merlin said, eyebrows almost disappearing into his hairline. "_I'm_ the one who always plays the fool, not you! _You_ always look like a hero!"_

_"And how much more foolish could I be? To think I really was a hero." Arthur stood and turned his back on Merlin, putting some much needed distance between them._

_When he was a child, he had often played chess with Gaius. They would talk about whatever was on Arthur's mind, he would trounce the physician soundly each time, and walk away feeling happier for days. Then, he had cockily challenged Morgana to a game. It was over in four moves. Arthur shrugged it off as a fluke, ignored Morgana's gloating, and demanded a rematch. Which he promptly lost. After the fifth embarrassingly quick game, Morgana took pity on him and claimed she had somewhere else to be. Arthur had simply sat there, staring at the pieces. Every prideful brag he had made about his advanced strategy, every kind smile from Gaius as he admitted defeat, every triumphant feeling of accomplishment he had felt had flashed before his eyes and then crumbled to ash. He stopped going to Gaius' chambers unless he had to. It was weeks before he could look at a chessboard without a sick feeling in his stomach._

_Now, he felt like a child again._

_"Arthur," Merlin's voice was gentle. "It wasn't like that..."_

_"What was it like, then?" Arthur said harshly, trying to force away the weakness he felt._

_"You are a hero," Merlin said, standing, but not approaching. It sounded like he was having one of his wise moments, damn him. "Much more than me. I've... done things I'm not proud of to keep Camelot safe. Things you don't need to know about."_

_Arthur met Merlin's eyes and saw something uncompromising and unyielding there. He was chilled by the thought that maybe he didn't want to know all of Merlin's secrets._

_"But you," Merlin continued. "You can be open with your people. You've made mistakes, but you've always done what you can to make up for them. You can hold your head high, and the people can look to you as an example. You are Camelot's hero. You always will be."_

_There was resignation in Merlin's voice that Arthur didn't like at all._

_"We could face things together," Arthur said quietly. "You and me. No more magic, no more lying, just you and me and the knights fighting as _people_ to protect Camelot. As _equals_."_

_"You don't know how much I want that," said Merlin fiercely. "But Mordred's out there right now with an army of sorcerers. Morgana's with him. When they start raining down magic on us, do you want me to run at them with a sword? Arthur, that'd be like asking you to fight with a twig when Excalibur was in your scabbard."_

_Arthur had to think about that for a moment. Would he ask Merlin to hold back when Camelot was in danger? For that matter, could he let his friend- who had a dismal sense of self preservation at the best of times- follow Arthur into battle without his most trusted weapon? But he couldn't make an exception. He wouldn't make the same mistake as his father, forbidding magic to his people but using it when he was desperate. No, magic could not be trusted. It was always had a price. And it always took more than it gave._

_"You could help Gaius," Arthur said. "You've become a skilled healer. You could save countless lives."_

_"Do you really think I could do that?" Merlin said, closing the distance between them. "Hide inside the citadel, not knowing if my friends were dead or alive? Could you?"_

_Arthur sighed, turning and scrubbing a hand over his face. Why was everything so difficult with Merlin? Why couldn't he be grateful that Arthur wanted him in Camelot at all? Why would he choose magic over his home and his friends? Over Arthur?_

_As King, he wanted to order Merlin to abandon magic and stay in Camelot as his advisor. As his friend. But Arthur remembered the advice of his old training master. Advice that had served him well as he lead men into countless battles._

Never give an order you know won't be followed.


	10. Destiny Divided, Part Five

_(So, here's the end of Episode Two! I've got future installments outlined, but not fleshed out. It might be a while before I post again. The school year is ramping up, and the firewall where I teach blocks fanfiction. Go figure :/ Anyway, you guys are the best :D Stay awesome.)_

* * *

Elyan tried to keep his breathing even and quiet as they hid in yet another alcove. It wasn't easy. Even with Oswin somewhat conscious and Erec sharing some of his weight, the physical toll was wearing on the knight. Having hardly slept the night before, the rush of battle had kept him going thus far. Now, his vision was blurring and his hands were shaking. He was sure that he would be starving if there was room in his stomach for anything but dread. Still, meeting Erec's determined gaze, he found the strength to push on as they ducked into the hall once more.

They kept to the shadows, moving in rushes and then freezing to avoid being seen. Elyan would never look at the castle tabby cat the same way again. He understood too well the feelings of their prey.

"Just a bit further, lads," Erec encouraged. "Come on."

They turned down the final hallway.

It was caved in.

Elyan bowed his head in despair. He felt a sob rake through Oswin's fading form.

"It's fine," Erec said. "We'll just double back one hallway and find our way from there. This wa-"

The air exploded.

Erec was gone.

Ignoring the red haze around them, Elyan gathered the screaming Oswin and sprinted up the hall. Explosions echoed around them. Elyan ignored them, pumping his leaden legs around a corner and toward the exit. He blinked, blaming the dust laden air for the tears streaming down his face, pushing aside their true source. He blocked out all feeling, sound, everything, as his vision tunneled on the door ahead.

_Almost there._ The words rang in his head his each stride. _Almost there, almost there, almost there..._

Finally, he plowed through the door, leaning against the wall just outside as he got his bearings. It was dark. The sun glowered sullenly on the horizon. The small stream that lead under the castle wall and through the drainage gate was fifty yards to his right. He started forward, staying close to the wall, but quickly came to a halt as he watched someone flop out of the stream.

"Gwai-"

His cry was cut off by a blast that shot water from the stream ten feet in the air and sent Gwaine tumbling. The knight quickly made his way to the relative safety of the castle wall and ran toward Elyan.

"Are you alright?" Gwaine asked, taking in Elyan's sweating, weary frame.

"Oswin's hurt," Elyan answer between breaths.

"Briggs said Erec was with you too," Gwaine said, looking around expectantly.

"He was," Elyan bit out raggedly.

Gwaine swallowed. He looked away, and Elyan could see his jaw muscles working.

"Merlin?" Gwaine said quietly.

Elyan shook his head. Gwaine grabbed his shoulders fiercely, almost knocking Oswin away.

"What does that mean, Elyan?" He said, tone hard, but not uncaring. "I need to know. Is he dead?"

"I couldn't find him," Elyan answered breathlessly. "I don't know... I couldn't..."

Gwaine bowed his head for a moment.

"Right," he said. "We need to get you out of here."

Elyan stumbled and nearly fell when Gwaine took Oswin's weight. He all but carried the young man toward the stream as Elyan trailed behind, feeling lost.

"Go on, get in, Elyan," Gwaine said when they reached the stream. "As long as you keep his head above the water, the current will carry you out. Let it do the work. You've earned a rest."

Elyan obeyed tiredly, though something about the way Gwaine was talking bothered him. It didn't click until Gwaine handed Oswin down to him.

"Wait," he said, heart quickening. "Where are you going?"

"You'll be fine. Go," Gwaine said, turning.

"What about you?" Gwaine kept walking and Elyan found himself growing frantic. "Gwaine!"

At his panicked shout, the other man stopped, shoulders slumped. He turned and met Elyan's eye for a moment.

"I have to try," he said. Then, he ran down the wall and disappeared through the door into the castle.

"No!" Elyan shouted. He struggled to pull himself and Oswin out of the water. He had to stop Gwaine. The other man didn't know what it was like in there, and soon the whole place would burn.

He had just gotten Oswin onto dry ground when an explosive force knocked both men under water. Desperately, Elyan grabbed Oswin and dragged him to the surface. As Gwaine had said, the current carried them toward safety, and Elyan was too exhausted to fight anymore. Oswin- somehow still conscious- was staring back at the castle in awe. Elyan followed his gaze.

After taking damage from hundreds of explosions, the entire west wall had finally collapsed. The upper floors were completely exposed while the lower were buried.

Gwaine and Merlin were on their own.

As Elyan and Oswin reached the drainage gate, bright orange flecks of light flew over their heads toward the castle, like falling stars against the dark sky above. As he pulled his injured companion underwater and swam for the safety of the forest, he only hoped his friends' luck could hold out.

* * *

In Gwaine's experience, when people called you "lucky" what they meant was "fast and good at dodging." Well, Gwaine used all the luck he could as he sprinted through the corridors. He didn't bother with stealth. Anyway, the sorcerers seemed more concerned with the fire spreading rapidly through the upper floors. It was an excellent distraction. Or at least, it would be, until it caught up with him and burned him to a crisp.

Now that he was inside, he had only one goal: get to the dungeons. Merlin was a prisoner and, as far as Gwaine could see, the best place to keep a prisoner was in the dungeon. Also, it was the only place in the castle that Gwaine knew how to find. There wouldn't be much logic to bursting into random rooms in a place this big. For Gwaine to have a shot at finding him, Merlin had to be in the dungeon.

He had to be.

* * *

_The two men sat side by side, staring out at the lake. Merlin could sense her there. Freya. They were on the Island of Avalon, but at the same time, they weren't. They were behind, or beneath, or in between the real place. Out of the corner of his eye, Merlin could see small moving spots of light. He guessed these were the Sidhe, but every time he tried to focus on one, it faded from sight. He was actually quite glad about that. He did not want to try to explain the Sidhe to Arthur right now._

_Arthur._

_The king had gone very quiet, as if there was nothing left to say. Merlin felt like something inside was being slowly torn apart. He knew he was hurting his friend. He also knew it had to be done. That didn't make it any easier._

_If only he could make Arthur understand._

_"When Kanen attacked Ealdor," Merlin said quietly, eyes on the waves, letting Freya's peace wash over him. "I almost stayed behind. I felt a responsibility. To my mother. To my people. If something happened, and I wasn't there, it would be my fault. I told you that. You said you understood."_

_Arthur shifted beside him in a way that meant Merlin had hit home, but Arthur didn't want to admit it. Smiling, Merlin went on._

_"That's how it is with magic," he said solemnly. "Those who practice magic, they are my people too. Even those that have gone wrong. I have to try to help them any way I can. If I go back to Camelot with you and stop practicing magic, I'll be turning my back on them. If I go back with you and keep doing magic in secret, you'll suspect it, and it'll drive a wedge between us. We'd end up resenting each other, maybe even hate each other. I don't think I could handle that."_

_Arthur's fists clenched in a way that said he couldn't either._

_"So," Merlin said, like it wasn't one of the hardest things he had ever had to do. "I think it's pretty clear, don't you? I'll leave and try to look after my people, you'll stay and take care of yours. Unless, you've changed your mind about allowing magic in Camelot?"_

_Arthur's frame stiffened beside him._

_"I didn't think so."_

_Silence reigned for a few long moments._

_"It's not fair," said Arthur._

_"Life rarely is," said Merlin._

* * *

Gwaine could barely see through the smoke, but he pressed on. It eased slightly as he took another flight of stairs toward the dungeon. Reaching the bottom, he paused, eyes adjusting to the darkness of the corridor. At last, he was able to discern the faint outline of the dungeon door. He ran to it.

* * *

Mordred looked out over the treetops at the orange glow that was Sarrum's former stronghold. It was a disaster. Their best chance at a stronghold, lost to the flames. Many of his people, his soldiers, gone as well. The responsibility weighed heavily on his shoulders, but he knew they had stayed willingly to give him a chance. For the future of magic. For their priestess.

He turned and walked further into the mountain cave where they had settled. Morgana was sitting there, staring ahead, but not really seeing anything. She'd been this way since she awoke, hours ago. Mordred sighed, rubbing his forehead. If it was permanent... but no, she would be fine. Warmth, shelter, and a few decent meals would set her right soon enough. For now he simply spoke to her, sure that after so much time alone, the sound of a friend would bring her some comfort.

"To think," he said, sitting beside her and taking her hand. "He left you in that pit. Locked away with that dead beast, as if you hadn't breath left to fight. Well, Emrys has taken your place. He will be trapped in that cave for all time, buried with the last of his ilk."

Morgana's brow creased. She seemed confused. She took a breath to speak, and Mordred held his own. He was disappointed when she spoke only two cryptic words.

"Not dead."

* * *

_Arthur didn't want to understand. He wanted to hit Merlin and call him a fool and make him come home. After the last time they won back Camelot, Arthur had felt that things were finally going right. He had followed his heart and married Gwen. The people loved her. He was surrounded by faithful, loyal knights. None of his advisors told him to do things that made his skin crawl. But now, his most trusted advisor and friend wanted to leave him only a few months into what should have been their golden age._

_The infuriating part was, Arthur _did_ understand. He understood having a duty to his people. He saw why Merlin had to leave Camelot. Now that he knew who Merlin really was, the servant wouldn't follow a master who didn't accept him fully- who wouldn't accept his people. He was done hiding and waiting._

_As a friend, Arthur wanted to take Merlin as he was. After all, he trusted Merlin. Maybe Merlin could show him a side of magic he'd never seen before. But every time he opened his mouth to say this, he heard the dragon's roar, the dorocha's scream, and his father's dying gasps, and the words died in his throat._

_Merlin was the best man he knew. If _he_ couldn't practice magic without pain and death following, who could?_

_Arthur couldn't accept magic. He just... couldn't._

_"Where will you go?" Arthur asked._

_"Not sure," Merlin said, shifting._

_"Oh God," Arthur scrubbed both hands over his face. "How is it that you kept your magic a secret for so long?! You are the worst liar..."_

_"Guess you _were_ pretty thick," Merlin said, with a half-hearted chuckle._

_Arthur obliged him with an equally half-hearted shove. The two sat in comfortable silence for a moment. Somehow, it felt like their time was almost up, and Arthur didn't want to rush the moments they had left. Still, he had to know._

_"Mordred?" he forced himself to ask._

_Merlin nodded._

_"Will you be alright?" Arthur said, casting a sideways glance at his friend._

_He caught Merlin's smirk before the servant ducked his head._

_"Are you worried?" Merlin's tone is light and joking, and four or five jesting replies flitted through Arthur's head. What came out was one simple, honest word._

_"Yes."_

_Merlin's wide eyed stare was more comical than any retort Arthur could have given. Even so, Arthur met his gaze seriously and steadily. The corner of Merlin's mouth twitched upward._

_"I'll be alright," he said._

_Arthur nodded._

_"When you're out there facing the sorcerers, fighting Mordred, I..." he swallowed, somewhat painfully, eyes fixed on the sea before him. "I don't want you to feel that you're alone."_

_Merlin was silent for a long moment before he spoke._

_"You're a loyal friend, Arthur."_

_The grey world started to fade._

* * *

"Gaius! I think he's coming round! Arthur? Ar-"

* * *

_-thur stood, offering his hand to Mer-_

* * *

"-lin! Are you in here, mate? Answer me! Merl-"

* * *

_-in took Arthur's hand pulling himself to stand before his Ki-_

* * *

"-ng is waking. Send a messenger to the queen at once! Arthur, if you can hear me, squeeze my ha-"

* * *

_-nds clasped, the two friends paused for a moment, knowing that this parting could be their last. Then, Arthur pulled Merlin in, wrapping his arm around the servant's now nearly insubstantial shoulders._

_"I'm going to miss you," he said tightly before pulling away and meeting Merlin's tearful gaze._

_"Wish I could say the same," teased Merlin, ruining the effect as he clasped Arthur's shoulder tightly. "Just... don't be a prat."_

_"Still giving me orders?" Arthur grinned._

_"Still a cabbage head?"_

_"Better a cabbage head than a-"_

* * *

Light and color swirled around him. Voices stretched and bent in the air. The only solid thing was his hand clasped with...

Gaius. Not Merlin.

"Good to have you back, Sire," the old physician smiled.

Arthur managed to return the smile before he passed out, entering a dreamless, healing sleep.

* * *

It was so dark, Merlin couldn't be sure his eyes were open until the smoke started stinging them. He scrambled to his feet. In the distance, he could hear a voice yelling his name. As he focused on his hearing, he became aware of another, much closer sound.

Breathing.

Something large, down here with him, breathing.

Merlin's heart pounded fast against his ribcage as he pressed his back to the wall.

Then, he stopped, cocking his head. There was something familiar about this presence. Something very familiar indeed.

* * *

"Merlin!" Gwaine bellowed, feeling desperate. Chunks of flaming wood from the ceiling above were raining down. It seemed as though this rescue was doomed whether or not he found Merlin. There was no way out.

"Merlin," he said, voice losing it's power. "If you can hear me, come toward the sound of my voice. I'll find a way to get you out of this, I swea-"

His desperate speech was interrupted by a large white blur shooting up from one of the trap doors. Gwaine gaped as a ruddy great _dragon_ landed before him. A familiar face peeked over the huge reptile's neck.

"Need a lift?" Merlin asked, in a casual tone. "She's only a baby, but I think she can at least get us out of here."

"That thing's a _baby_?" Gwaine tried to say. What came out was an airy garble of hisses and gasps.

"Oookay," said Merlin, turning his attention to the dragon. "_Aithusa, piáse to trichotó ánthropo kai__na mas párei apó edó!_"

Tremors traveled down Gwaine's spine at the fury and strength of Merlin's words. Before he could get over the shock, the dragon seized him around the waist as if he were a doll and surged into the air. Just as Gwaine thought they would slam into the flaming ceiling above, the dragon spat out a column of fire.

* * *

The beast burst from the flaming castle, fearsome in the orange glow of the fire. She hovered for a moment, then shot off, graceful wings glinting in the moonlight. Soon, those watching lost sight, and wondered if they had only imagined it in the blackness. But though the night was dark, the dawn would come soon and swift.

For the white dragon boded well for Albion, for Emrys and Arthur, and for the land they would build together.

* * *

_(AN: This is not the end, just the beginning... Some of you guys totally called it. In my version of events, Morgana and Aithusa have been in the dungeon for maybe a month or two. Not long enough to deform Aithusa. I really felt like the writer's treatment of Aithusa was kind of symbolic of what they did with the entire show's potential: take something awesome and hopeful and turn it to something lame and sad. I promise I won't keep Merlin and Arthur apart for too long. I plan to make sure every upcoming episode features both of them at some point.)_


	11. Gwaine and the Green Knight, Part One

It was among the oddest ways Gwaine had ever waken. Of course, taking into account the incident a few years back with the juggler, the miller's daughter, and the ferrets, he supposed he couldn't say it was the _oddest_. Top three, definitely. Although, there was the time he and Percival found that barrel of mead in the woods. They had _thought_ it was mead, anyway… Still, this was at least among the five oddest ways he'd ever waken. Probably.

He blinked the sleep from his eyes and levered himself up to glare at the white dragon, who was calmly and casually licking Gwaine's feet.

"Stop that," he said.

The reptile stopped, examining him with dark, intelligent eyes.

It cocked its head.

Then it looked down and continued licking his feet.

"Ugh," he said, pulling his legs away. "Look, I know there's probably a tasty bit of build-up there, and they could probably do with scrub, but I'll find a stream, if it's all the same to you."

The dragon examined him for a moment longer, then stretched its long neck forward and began snuffing at his feet again.

"Oi!" he said, pushing the scaly snout away. "You might be a creature of myth and magic, but that doesn't mean you can do whatever you like. Now, go on, go bother someone else."

The dragon made a dissatisfied noise. Then, it stood and circled in place-once, twice-to lie down with its back facing him, sighing dejectedly. Gwaine rolled his eyes and stood, stretching his stiff back. He made a quick to-do list in his head—get boots, get breakfast, find Merlin—and surveyed his surroundings. They were still in the small, sandy cave they had all collapsed in just before dawn the previous night. Now, bright, warm sunlight cascaded down from the cave's entrance.

Gwaine soon spotted his boots nearby. Crossing an item off of his mental list, he fished inside for his socks. He came up one short.

Odd.

Quickly scanning the immediate area, he spotted the missing article a few feet away. Snatching it up, he shook it out and briskly pulled it on-

-only to have his foot slip all the way through a jagged hole that had been chewed in the end.

Gwaine sat frozen for a moment. Then, his eyes slid to other occupant of the cave. The dragon was lying very still, eyes fixed on the man. Gwaine glared. The creature made small keening noise, ears flattened on its head and eyes wide; the picture of remorse.

"Why is it always me?" Gwaine sighed.

The dragon's tail wagged slightly.

"Alright," said Gwaine, pulling off the ruined sock and tossing it to the creature. "If you've gotten a taste for me, I suppose I'd rather you take a bite of this than something more tender."

The beast quickly sprang to its feet, catching the discarded clothing and shaking it. It paraded around as Gwaine pulled his boots onto his bare feet and stood. He turned to make his way outside, but found the dragon, sock dangling from its large maw, crouched before him. Its tail whipped back and forth through the air behind it.

"Oh, I see how it is," Gwaine said, grinning. Quick as he could, he grabbed for the sock. The dragon danced just out of his reach. Again, he lunged forward and again the beast dodged to the side, tail now stirring up a cloud of dust.

"Well," Gwaine sighed dramatically, walking past the beast. "You're just too fast for me. I admit defeat. I am bested."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the tail slow to a stop.

Then, he spun and leapt, both hands latching securely onto the sock.

"Ha ha! Got ya!" He cried.

Then, he locked eyes with the dragon.

Before he could do anything else, the beast sprang toward the entrance of the cave. It burst into the sunlight of the forest, with Gwaine flapping behind it like a broken buckle. Through the trees they wove, sending showers of leaves and twigs to the forest floor in their wake. Gwaine held on for dear life. Suddenly, their wild flight was interrupted as the dragon's head jerked around, and it abruptly changed course. In moments, they had landed, and Gwaine wasted no time in letting go of the sock and collapsing to the ground with a thud. After a moment, a soggy and tattered scrap of fabric appeared in his lap. The sock. He glanced up to smile at the playful dragon before him, but froze as his eyes settled on something behind his new friend.

A dragon.

A SECOND dragon.

A second, much larger, much meaner looking dragon.

Who seemed to be talking to Merlin.

Who, apparently, was a dragonlord.

And a warlock.

Overall, it was the oddest morning Gwaine had ever had.

* * *

The magic was strange, yet familiar. It rustled like the leaves of autumn as it curled around him, tendrils of orange wrapping his very being in a tickling, glowing warmth. His own magic basked in the contact like a serpent on a sunlit rock. Its icy blue waves sang as they flowed over radiant coals of ancient power. The magics curiously explored one another, each enfolding the other's substance in its own. Soon, he felt the other presence withdraw. Pulling his magic back into himself, Merlin opened his eyes.

The sun was filtering down through the trees, flickering across the forest floor in ever-changing patterns as the wind danced through the branches. Stretching his stiff back, Merlin glanced around. Kilgarrah still crouched before him, blinking solemnly as he pulled his magic back from Merlin's. Glancing around, Merlin spotted Gwaine and Aithusa in an nearby clearing… playing fetch? Honestly, Gwaine could wake up, find himself on the moon, think, _I wonder what kind of ale they have here?9_ and try and skip moonstones back to the earth. The man was unflappable. Show him a dragon, tell him his friend was a sorcerer, he hardly batted on eye. What had been his exact words?

_"Well, that explains more than it doesn't."_

If only everyone was so understanding. If only Arthur…

Merlin pushed the thought aside and turned his attention back to the matter at hand.

"Well?" He asked, trying not to fidget.

"Your magic is indeed damaged, young warlock," Kilgarrah said solemnly. "But not beyond repair. Have patience. The time of Albion is close at hand, and your part in this story is far from over."

"How can you say that?" Merlin's nose scrunched as his eyes began to sting. The sunlight was getting to him. "Arthur wants nothing to do with me, I can't go back to Camelot, and even if I could, what use am I without my magic?"

"Merlin," the dragon growled. "You are more than your magic. You have always been more. It was not your magic that faced monsters and demons, but your bravery. Magic did not bring together the knights of the round table; your loyalty and friendship did. And it did not change the young and arrogant Prince Arthur into the Once and Future King. You did, with your compassion and wisdom. Your power comes not from your skill with spells, but from the strength of your spirit."

Merlin ducked his head, letting out a sheepish laugh.

"_Se efcharistó fíle mou_," he said, meeting the dragon's eyes warmly.

"When the time is right, your path will be revealed. Until then, keep hope. And—" a loud crash sounded. Merlin looked up in time to see Gwaine and Aithusa rolling out from some shrubbery, wrestling over what looked to be an old sock. Kilgarrah sighed. "And try not to let your knight corrupt the youngling more than he already has."

"No promises," Merlin grinned.

* * *

The day passed uneventfully. Merlin led, and Gwaine followed unquestioningly. He had no idea what Merlin's plan was, if there was a plan. But he trusted Merlin. And, he had learned a long time ago not to borrow trouble from the future. Today, they were walking. Tomorrow could take care of itself. In the meantime, Gwaine was learning loads about his new friend. In addition to socks, she had a taste for squirrels and rabbits, while birds held no interest for her. She could catch and carry things with her front claws, but almost always preferred to use her mouth. And she let out a high, chiming sound, like singing crystal, when he scratched her neck right behind her head. He had used that knowledge often enough throughout the day that he was fairly certain he was her new favorite.

As the sun began to dip toward the horizon, they came to a rise overlooking a distant town. Gwaine could already hear the inviting ruckus of the local tavern.

"Thirsty, Merlin?" He grinned.

Merlin rolled his eyes, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Do never think of anything else?" The warlock chuckled. "It's actually not a bad idea, though."

Gwaine turned in surprise..

"Wait a minute," he said, regarding Merlin with a cautious glare. "Why do I get the feeling you're not really interested in ale?"

"I need to find out what Mordred is up to," Merlin answered, taking Gwaine's elbow and leaning in. "Place like this, maybe someone's heard something."

"Merlin," Gwaine said levelly. "It hasn't been a full day since we were trapped in a _burning castle_ by Mordred and his lot. We just got back in the frying pan and you want to dive into the fire again?!"

Merlin pursed his lips, shrugging.

"Well, if you don't want to come—"

"—I didn't say that," Gwaine sighed. "When have you ever known me to turn down a losing battle, eh?"

He really ought to smack that cheeky grin off Merlin's face.

"The question is," Gwaine continued. "What do we do with Daisy while we're down there?"

"Who's Dais—no, Gwaine. _No_. Her name is Aithusa."

"That's a ridiculous name," Gwaine scoffed. "Besides, she likes Daisy better."

"She does _not_—" Merlin stopped abruptly, head whipping to stare at the beautiful dragon as she cooed. He dropped his head, shoulders slumping. "Gwaine, you're a bad influence."

"Now Merlin," Gwaine grinned. "Don't be a poor sport. Tell Daisy to hide in a cave or something. Ale, lasses, and pickled eggs await!"

* * *

The pub was warm and cheerful, but Merlin took little pleasure in it. He felt out of place, uncomfortable. He kept trying to convince himself that he and Gwaine were on a quest, secretly tracking Arthur to stop him doing something stupid. But this time, he wasn't following Arthur. The king was far away, in Camelot. Merlin had chosen to leave him behind. Everything he had worked for, his friends, his home, all of that was behind him, and for what? For magic? For the demands of a dead religion that required sacrifice again and again? For the promise that someday things would be better? He slammed his mug of ale down. Why? Why did he keep doing this?

"Merlin," Gwaine said, plopping into the seat across from him. "You are sad-drinking. I need you to be happy-drinking."

Merlin sighed.

"No one here knows anything," he said, staring moodily into his drink.

"I dunno," Gwaine smirked. "I was just talking to a fascinating lady over there I'm convinced could teach me a thing or two. She might even have a friend for you."

"This is a waste of time," Merlin said, standing, jaw set. "Stay if you like, but I'm going."

Not bothering to hear Gwaine's answer, Merlin made his way out of the pub and into the cool spring evening. He cut through the twisting streets of the small town, trying to lose himself in the deepening shadows. As he rounded one of the last buildings between him and the forest, he heard Gwaine's footsteps overtaking him.

"Look, Merlin," his friend called. "I don't know—"

Gwaine's voice cut off abruptly. Merlin turned in time to see him crash to the ground, completely unconscious.

As he turned, Merlin felt an all too familiar prick in his neck. Fumbling with already numb fingers, he felt the shaft of a dart sticking out from his neck. The names of four or five spells he could use ran through his head, but the letters collided and spilled in a kaleidoscope of meaningless syllables. The ground bent, flexed, and rolled like a wave on the ocean, crashing first into his knees, then his shoulders and head. Black curtains fell across his vision, narrowing the world into shadowy slits.

Then there was nothing.

* * *

Arthur surged up in bed, breathing heavily as the nightmare—vision? clung to his slowly clearing mind. His fists clenched as he thought back over the events of the dream—the dragon, the pub, the dart—and what it likely meant.

"Dammit, Merlin!"

* * *

_(Finally clawed my way out of a pit of creative exhaustion, got this whole series outlined, and am writing again. I promise I will finish it. I'll be writing any time I have the time, space, and creative energy to do so. I am changing the summary of the story to include a WIP disclaimer. I really want this to be good, so I'm not going to rush it. It will take time. But I will finish. Thanks so much for sticking with it. Your reviews helped pull me out of the quagmire of non-inspiration.)_


	12. Gwaine and the Green Knight, Part Two

This was not his fault. Of that much, Gwaine was certain. Yes, it had been his idea to go to the pub, but they'd only been drugged and carted off _after_ they left. Merlin was the one to leave first. Now, Gwaine wasn't one to point fingers, but the fact that his friend had stood and stomped out early— without so much as giving Gwaine time to finish his drink— clearly made this Merlin's fault. Not Gwaine's. That was the vital thing to remember.

"This is your fault," Merlin said, pacing past Gwaine's spot on the floor of the pit-like prison for what seemed like the hundredth time.

"I think that's a bit unfair," Gwaine answered as he watched Merlin circle around the other captives. All were watching his and Merlin's exchange with varying expressions of amusement. Gwaine didn't mind; he remembered the distinct lack of entertainment he'd enjoyed as Jarl's guest years ago. Besides the forced death-matches, this was sure to be the only entertainment they'd get for weeks. He was glad to oblige.

"It is," retorted Merlin, coming to a stop and pinning him with an accusing glare. "We went into a tavern. No good ever comes of that."

"Well, that is just the _least_ true thing I've ever heard."

Merlin grabbed his hair with both hands, turning away and groaning in frustration. Gwaine let him. It was good for his friend to work out some of that pent up energy. As for Gwaine, he was saving his strength. If Jarl was still operating like before, he would need it. He closed his eyes for moment, banishing the memories and ignoring the way his gut churned as he considered the near future. Why was it always him? It was as if he walked around with a sign that read 'Will fight for your entertainment to protect friends.'

Well, no point in dwelling on it. He'd do what he had to do to keep himself and Merlin alive and deal with the nightmares later.

He felt Merlin settle beside him, back pressed into the cold wall.

"Sorry."

Gwaine glanced over. The fight had drained out of the warlock. He looked old, tired. That wouldn't do.

"Make it up to me," Gwaine said. Merlin's gaze perked up, curiosity chasing the sullen shadows from his eyes. Much better.

"How?" Merlin asked, with a fair amount of suspicion coloring his voice. Gwaine supposed he deserved that. Running a cautious eye over the other prisoners to ensure none were listening too closely, Gwaine smirked.

"Tell me about a time you saved Her Royal Highness' backside," Gwaine raised an eyebrow. "The _whole_ story. Nothing left out. And remember, this is our liege lord we're talking about, so please, don't leave out a single embarrassing detail."

Gwaine watched with satisfaction as a mischievous smile erased the lingering darkness on his friend's face.

"What do you know about love potions?"

Gwaine grinned as his friend started on a tale about a princess, a vengeful king, and a jester. He let his worries of the future go for a moment. There was no doubt in his mind that he and Merlin would make their way back to Camelot one day, and everything would get back to normal. And, if he could use the intervening time to hear humiliating stories about Arthur, so much the better.

* * *

The clash of swords rang through the deserted practice yards as the two men sparred. A casual observer might have thought it was a normal training session for two men of equal skill. Only one who knew them both would see that one knight stayed on the defensive, moving forward with half hearted attacks and never pressing his advantage. The other's form was sloppy, uncoordinated but aggressive. A trained eye would guess that this was a warrior fighting on uneven ground, or with a sword of unfamiliar weight. With every misplaced step and wide arcing swing, the swordsman's frustration visibly grew. At last, a series of swift movements that would usually drive an opponent to their knees threw the man completely off balance, and he fell in a heap.

The other man tentatively offered him a hand, but it was batted away. Embarrassment tinged the young man's features as he clattered unsteadily to his feet.

"Again," he said.

"Sire—" the knight protested.

"I can do this!" The king said vehemently, closing his eyes. "I can do this."

"Arthur," Leon's voice drew nearer. A warm hand fell on his shoulder. "You are still healing. It's alright to give yourself time. No one expects—"

Arthur pulled away from the care and understanding of Leon's voice. He didn't deserve it.

"I need this Leon," he said roughly, grasping Excalibur in cold and clammy hands. Normally, the sword was an extension of his arm. Wielding it felt as natural, right. Now, the wound on his back pulled with every movement. Cold numbness spread from it, stiffening his shoulders and making his legs feel leaden and slow. He'd been injured enough to know how a healing wound should feel. This wasn't normal. It wasn't getting better. The thought that it might _never_ get better…

"My people need protection," he turned away, swallowing against the tightness in his throat and chest. "They need me to be strong enough to defend them. Now, I can't even lift a blade told defend myself. I'm no leader. I'm just… _useless_—"

Arthur was cut off as a hand reappeared on his shoulder, this time not so gentle. Strong fingers forced him to turn and meet Leon's fierce gaze.

"_Never_ let me hear you say that again," the knight said, stepping in close and giving Arthur a firm shake. "How many knights here have been injured in battle, fighting for _you_? How many of them can no longer wield a blade? Are they useless?"

Shame slunk down to settle in Arthur's stomach. His face grew hot.

"I didn't mean that," he said, avoiding Leon's eyes. "But this is different. I'm not the same as them, I'm—"

"What, Arthur?" The knight ducked his head, forcing Arthur to meet his eyes. "Better? Invincible?"

"_I don't know!_" Arthur burst out, throwing his sword to the ground in frustration. He stepped away from Leon and tipped his head toward the sky, pressing the heal of his hands to his burning eyes. "All I know is that this is one thing I could always do. I couldn't always prove myself through cleverness or kindness or diplomacy. When it comes to laws and judgement, I make the wrong choices. I put my trust in the wrong people. But this…"

He sighed, settling on the ground, and drawing the sword to rest at his side. In his periphery, he saw Leon kneel across from him. It was fortunate none of the other knights cared to practice this early in the day, if they could help it. Arthur wouldn't want anyone else to see him this way.

"When I'm in combat, I know what's right. I can see clearly." It was something those closest to him never understood and had fought against time and again. "When I face danger head-on, I know when to show mercy, when to yield, when to give myself up. It's been the one part of my life that I can count on. Without it… who am I?"

Leon was silent for a long moment.

"Sire," he began. "Arthur. I've known you since you were a lad. It's true, you've always been a skilled warrior. I've never seen anything like it. The way you moved with a blade, even as a child, it was a sight to behold. But," Arthur glanced up as Leon's tone hardened. "I remember a time when the power of wielding weapons made you arrogant, not wise. I remember a young man who was anything but merciful in combat, and would never give himself up in a fight."

Arthur winced. He remembered too well.

"There was a time," Leon continued, "When I honestly worried about the future of this kingdom with you as its king. But, you surprised me. You surprised everyone. Over the years, you've become a compassionate and true leader. Your people don't follow you because you're a great warrior, but because you're a great man. Every soul in Camelot trusts you with their lives, not because of your blade, but because of your heart. Even if you never carry a sword again, I would follow you to the gates of Hell. You are my King."

Arthur smiled at Leon, this time accepting the man's hand as he rose. As the knight turned and made his way from the practice fields, the king's smile faltered. Bending, he retrieved his weapon, eye lingering on the face reflected on the blade. Losing his ability to fight was only half the problem. His confidence had been shaken by more than just that. Leon rightly pointed out that, though he had always been a great warrior, he had also been a selfish and vile young man. Right up to the point he met Merlin.

Merlin. For years, his friend had been at his side, believing in him, letting him believe in himself. Now, without that support, he was floundering. Who was he without Merlin?

Thinking about his friend, his dream from a few days before swam through his mind again. But just as before, when he tried to remember the substance of the dream, it slipped away like water through a sieve. His heart told him that he had made a mistake in letting Merlin go, that his friend was somehow in danger. He just had no clue what to do about it. He didn't know where Merlin was, and even if he did, would Merlin want Arthur to come after him? Then again, since when did the idiot know what was best for him? He'd followed Arthur against the king's wishes often enough. Maybe it was time to repay the favor. He just didn't know...

The wound on his back began to ache once more. Sheathing his blade, he decided to visit Gaius. He had been avoiding the physician, and the hard conversation that was likely ahead. Now, it seemed that the old man was the only one who could help him. He set his jaw and started forward.

* * *

Merlin jerked from his doze at the sound of a door high above him. He tried to hang onto the dream he'd been having—a face in a sword, guilt and pain and doubt—but they melted away as Gwaine pulled him to his feet. His friend was already on guard, shouldering in front of Merlin as the face of their captor appeared. The Merlin had expected to see Jarl's snarled grin bearing down at them. Instead, a doughy man with disinterested eyes squinted at them, handkerchief pressed to his face as he pointed, speaking softly to the armored man next to him.

A rope ladder dropped to the floor, and four guards descended as two more above stood ready with crossbows. Pushing the prisoners with rough-looking axes, they separated the men into two groups. Merlin's heart quickened when he and Gwaine were forced to separate sides of the cell. Gwaine looked rebellious, fists clenching, but Merlin caught his eye, shaking his head. There would be a time to fight and escape. This wasn't it.

As Merlin's group as directed toward the ladder, the warlock heard a scuffle behind him. He turned in time to see Gwaine tussling with one of the guards, face filled with desperate rage. It seemed the man really couldn't help himself.

Just as Merlin feared that his friend's struggles would be ended by a crossbow bolt, the guard landed a hard blow to his stomach with the butt of his axe. Gwaine fell to his knees, head bowed. It pained him to see his friend hurt, but Merlin hoped it would stop the reckless man from trying anything else. Regretfully, Merlin filed toward the ladder with the rest of the captives. He cast one final look at his friend as he reached the bottom rung. Gwaine's head lifted a fraction, revealing a roguish smile. Merlin barely caught a glint of silver in the man's hands before the stolen dagger disappeared up the man's sleeve. Holding back a grin, Merlin proceeded out of the pit, ready to face whatever came next.

* * *

Gaius tried to keep his mind on the wound before him, but his thoughts strayed. When Arthur had woken, he had been tired and drained. It was clearly not the time to press him with questions. But, as he recovered his strength, he remained strangely quiet, pensive, and distant. He had left Gaius' chambers with no more than a soft word of thanks. As much as the physician wished to give Arthur time to process and heal, the young king was the only one with answers as to what had happened in Amata. Under normal circumstances, Gaius could count on Merlin to pester his master until he got to the truth of things. But Merlin wasn't here, and that was precisely the problem.

Gaius sighed, redressing the wound.

"Well?" Arthur said sharply. Most people would read only impatience in his tone. Gaius knew him well enough to hear the fear pulsing beneath.

"There's only so much I can say, Sire," Gaius said, keeping his tone detached. "You were stabbed with a blade of unknown power. Besides the obscure text Sir Leon and I found, I have no knowledge of what the long-term effects might be." He paused, turning away and casually wiping his hands. "It might help, of course, if I knew more about the circumstances surrounding your injury…"

He heard Arthur sigh and sit up. Glancing surreptitiously at his ruler, Gaius took in the stark shadows on the young man's face. He stared ahead with unseeing eyes, lost in though or memory.

"Just when I think I've got things right," Arthur said quietly, almost to himself, "It all falls to pieces again." The young king scrubbed at his face, and Gaius felt a surge of fondness at the familiar gesture. Arthur was still a boy in so many ways…

"Arthur," Gaius moved to sit in front of the young man, catching his eyes and allowing the warmth to come through to his voice, "Whatever happened, you can tell me."

As the king met his gaze, Gaius was struck by the sheer force of the uncertainty, the fear, and the shame he saw there. Arthur took a deep breath, emotions uncaged and unguarded. He began his story.

* * *

Gwaine paced. He didn't try to hide his worry; every man left in the cell around him felt the same, though for different reasons. Gwaine's mind wasn't dwelling on the possibility of unpleasantness in his own future, but in Merlin's present. True, the man holding them wasn't Jarl, and apparently didn't have his predecessor's taste for bloodsport. Even so, he was an unknown, and he had taken all the most vulnerable looking captives and left the stronger ones here. That made Gwaine uneasy. Even the comforting weight of his stolen dagger did little to calm his mind. After what seemed like an age, the door above opened. One of the armored guards from earlier appeared, ladder in hand.

"You lot," he shouted, bald head glinting. "Will come up one at a time. You will go down the hall to the washing room. You will get yourselves clean and ready for market. After that, you will be fed and let outdoors." The man paused, glaring. His eyes lingered on Gwaine. "You men are strong. I know it, you know it, my master knows it. He wants you to stay that way. It makes you valuable, you could have a good life ahead. But, should you resist, you'll get thrown into a cell with no food until your strength is gone. You'll end up in a mine, behind a plow, at the docks, and work the same drudge every day for the rest of your puny lives. Make things easy on yourself—don't try and fight this one. I didn't."

The ladder fell. For a moment, no one moved. Then Gwaine shrugged and stepped forward. Men filed behind him as he climbed. He did as he had been told, following the hall to the bathing room and cleaning himself. He was careful to keep his dagger concealed in his shirt as he washed the grime of the dungeon from his arms, neck and back. After a moment of consideration, he slipped the weapon into his boots. It'd be harder to get to in a hurry, but it was better concealed.

Soon, he found himself standing in a small, fenced-in yard with a cup of water and loaf of fresh, seeded bread in his hand. He blinked up at the sun, getting his bearings.

"Gwaine!"

He turned at the sound of his name to see Merlin waving at him from the outside of the pen. For a moment, Gwaine's heart jumped at the thought that his friend was free. But no. He could see that Merlin was just in a separate enclosure to the right of Gwaine's with some of the men he'd been grouped with before. Still others were in a yard to his left.

"Merlin," Gwaine said, clasping the other man's thin shoulder through the bars, "Are you alright?"

"Fine," Merlin said, taking a large bite of an apple. Gwaine looked at his plain bread, now feeling a bit cheated. "It seems this slaver, Tiernay, took over after Jarl. He's a bit more… pragmatic. Seems to think of us in terms of profit—we're worth more if we're fed, exercised and reasonably happy."

"Less likely to run or fight too," Gwaine nodded, looking around. The tense, fearful atmosphere of the cell had vanished. Men were at ease, eating and chatting on the grass.

"Smart," Merlin conceded. "Seems we've been categorized. Over there," he nodded to the left yard, "You've got unskilled laborers."

Gwaine nodded. These raillike men were the ones bound for mines and dockyards, probably to be sold by the bunch to merchants and lords. Each seemed to have a bowl of simple gruel.

"I, of course,"Gwaine cut in, smiling. "Am in with the warriors."

"The muscle," said Merlin dismissively. "I think Tiernay might actually keep some of your lot to work for him. Meanwhile, I'm in with the skilled workers. Scribes, cooks, smiths, you know the types."

"Right," Gwaine said, feigning confusion. He plucked the apple out of Merlin's hand and took a careless bite. "How'd you weasel your way into the 'skilled' crowd then?"

Merlin gave him a dry look.

"I don't know, Gwaine," he said loftily, snatching the apple back. "They seemed to think training in medicine and courtly writing, as well as serving a knight in a lordly household was worth something. And, I can juggle."

Meeting Gwaine's eyes squarely, he took a meaningful bite.

Gwaine scowled.

"You didn't tell them _who_ you served under, did you?" He asked.

"Of course not, Gwaine," Merlin said, sounding exasperated. "I'm not looking to get myself into trouble. Here," he said, holding something out to Gwaine through the bars.

Gwaine held out his hand and was surprised to see his necklace drop into it. When he'd woken in the cells, he'd noticed it missing, and it had been… well, a bit of a blow. He glanced up in surprise at Merlin, who was grinning cheekily.

"Merlin, mate…" Gwaine swallowed with some difficulty as he ran his thumb over the familiar pendant and the smooth, gold ring in turn. "How did you…?"

"I'm skilled," Merlin said simply, eyes dancing.

Laughing, Gwaine slipped the chain over his head, sighing as the familiar weight settled into place. Let them _try _to take it off him again.

"Merlin," he said seriously, gripping his friend's arm through the bars. "I don't know what to say."

The warlock returned the grip solidly and nodded before glancing away.

"Maybe say you've thought of a way out of here," Merlin said, pulling his arm back to lean against the fence.

"Ah," Gwaine glanced around. No one was listening. "I thought maybe you could… you know." Gwaine wiggled his fingers expressively. Merlin's eyebrow raised.

"Right..." Merlin said, rolling his eyes. He crossed his arms, eyes going distant. Then he shook his head. "It's too risky. Even if I was at full strength—which I'm not—it's too open here. Last time, we had a lot of chaos to work with. This—" Merlin gestured at the calm and quiet around them, "—is going to be hard to slip away from. Besides, if any escape went wrong… let's just say I don't want Tiernay to know just _how_ skilled I am."

"Point taken," said Gwaine. "Then I suppose we'll have to wait."

Merlin nodded.

"We might have a chance to slip away on the way to the market," he said, "Or even after we been… sold. We just have to try and stay together."

At that moment, the crack of a whip broke the air. Large, cumbersome carts came into view, each pulling to the end of the separated yards. Merlin and Gwaine exchanged a brief look, then moved forward.

* * *

_(More coming soon...ish. Thanks for reading!)_


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